Taming the Tides
by Schmo and Sushi
Summary: COMPLETE. Sequel to SEA RAT. What started out for Narnia as a simple preventive campaign against rebel Galma has now become full-fledged war. Alliances, independence, and lives hang in the balance, and all involved must band together or be destroyed.
1. Chapter One

Enna Aldenthew had never seen mountains before. Having grown up on the sandy, sunny shores of Galma, an island somewhat southeast of Narnia, she was used to rolling dunes and the occasional wave-worn cliff. But these, the northeastern end of the blue Archen Mountains, rose formidably up into the sky, their distant peaks swathed with misty clouds that periodically blew aside to reveal snow-covered, craggy rock.

_Are we going to try and travel through those monstrous things?_ she thought in dismay. _It will surely be the death of us if we do!_

But the young woman looked about at her traveling companions who were so calmly gazing across the wide plains at the impending peaks. There was King Edmund, no older than she, on the horse nearest hers: his dark head was unadorned but shone in the sunshine, his face striking with the kind of dignity that comes from sudden responsibility. He was the high king Peter's second in command, as well as his brother, and had been charged with sole authority over the small contingent of shining-armored Narnian soldiers that traveled with them.

Next to him was his sister, the irrepressible Queen Lucy, seated on a high-stepping palomino pony. She was merely seventeen, but had already won the hearts of princes from dozens of surrounding kingdoms with her good nature and sparkling eyes. Her long brown hair caught the wind and drifted whimsically about her head, but Enna had witnessed firsthand just how bloody-minded the girl was about being allowed to fight in battles.

Then there was Aramir Ealion, the sailor-turned-Narnian knight. He was hard to see, this far away, but his characteristic expression of utmost placidness with a hint of jocularity was unmistakable. In all the messes Enna had found herself in in the past, he had been there to help her out of them, pointing out some unpleasant truths along the way. (Little did he know, but Lucy's innocent heart had quite fixed itself on his.)

They were all very dear to Enna, but she could not help but notice how unperturbed they all looked! The band was mere days away from the snowy mountains, and no one had said anything about how they were going to get _through_ them.

But Enna decided to keep her mouth shut, at least for the moment. It was a bright spring afternoon in late April, the sun was warm, and the plains through which they had been traveling were growing greener and greener with each passing day. To her mind, as unknowing about Narnia's geography as it was, it seemed as though they were making great progress—why, merely two weeks ago, she had bidden farewell to King Peter, her husband, no more than a league from the shores of the Great River, and already they were in sight of the mountains that delineated the border between the two great kingdoms of Narnia and Archenland. If the city of Anvard was as close as Edmund's maps made it seem, they could be there within the next two fortnights.

And time was of the essence. Even as their mounts steadily neared the intimidating peaks, the Galmanian hosts were streaming across the mainland, fractioned three times: a third gone west across the Archen River, intending to drive further into Narnia, a third gone west and through the Archen Mountains, surging into remote southwestern Archenland, and the third gone south to drive right into the vast but thinly populated kingdom. Peter, with the great lion Aslan as his guide, had sent Enna and the three others east, to ride to Anvard with all haste to warn their king of the impending military danger. He hoped to head off any potentially international conflict—if they could remind King Lune of Narnia and Archenland's intimate alliance, convincing him to refuse Galma's tempting advances and take up arms against them, the rebels might be forced back into Narnia, where their indignant high king awaited their punishment.

"Do you think we'll reach them before nightfall?" asked Lucy, her clear voice breaking the distracted silence.

"Reach what, Lu?"

"Well, the mountains, of course! What else would I be speaking of?"

"I apologize—my mind was occupied with other things. I think we will reach them tonight, but it will be late, and we shall have to camp in their shadows."

"I am excited to see Prince Corin again."

"Oh, Lucy, don't be silly. He's a beastly boy!"

"You're just saying that because he knocked you down the last time we met."

"Aye! Who dares knock down a king!"

"I think it was good for you."

"He is quite the naughty fellow."

"I believe you're just jealous because an eight-year-old managed to knock _you_ over, a sixteen-year-old!"

"Imagine what he will be like now, at nearly eleven."

"I doubt much worse. Probably better!"

"Hardly."

"Enna, what do _you_ think?"

Enna laughed. "I do not know Prince Corin, Lucy, and so can hardly be called upon to predict his behavior."

"Well, what do _you_ think, Aramir?"

"I would naturally agree with both of Your Majesties, but as you have given such different testimonials, I can't even begin to decide whose to pick."

Lucy giggled. "Pick mine—I guarantee, it is the better one."

"Time will be your judge, my lady," Aramir said grandly, sending Lucy into more giggles.

Edmund did not look very pleased with his sister's behavior, but Enna could hardly blame him. "It has been very long since we were last in Archenland."

"Aye, and Aramir and Enna have never been at all!"

"Aramir was born there," Enna corrected.

"Aye—but it has been many years since I stood on Archenlandian soil."

"It is not much different from Narnian soil," Edmund said with a dry wink.

Lucy laughed again, tossing her long brown hair. "That we shall soon see, my dear brother—that we shall soon see."

--

_A/N: Haha, Sushi here! Welcome to "Taming the Tides"! If I had a definite idea of where this story is going, I'd take the time about now to say that you could read it without having read or at least knowing the plot of "Sea Rat," but I guess we'll all have to find out whether or not that's true. XD _

_A lot of you who reviewed "Sea Rat"'s epilogue noted how much more of a cliffhanger than an epilogue it was, and I just wanted to say that I did that purposefully. ;D I hope you enjoy "Taming the Tides," and it answers any questions the epilogue might've raised! _

_PS: Sorry it's so short, but it just didn't seem right to jump immediately into the plot action. So there you have it! Shiny button right below is beckoning, isn't it?_


	2. Chapter Two

_A/N: Hehe, sorry this chapter took so long, everybody. Been really busy! On that note, things are going to slow down here for a while—no more "two updates a day", at least at first. I don't really have a plot all written out for "Taming the Tides" like I did for "Sea Rat", so the writing will take a lot more time and be much more labor-intensive until I get definite plans drafted. Plus, softball starts in a week and the SAT, the first of my Big Tests, is just three weeks away—eek! But things'll slow down here soon, and then we can really get going. ;) I'll be regular in updating, though—at least once a week, most likely more._

_Hope y'all enjoy this chapter!_

--

The small band did indeed camp in the shadows of the mountains. In fact, they pitched their tents in a small valley between two foothills, where they were protected from the snowy wind that still wailed down from the distant peaks. Lucy and Edmund looked quite comfortable in this little natural nook, but Enna, looking around as night fell on the surrounding forests, felt a little prick of unease.

"It's nothing, Enna," Lucy told her as the two young girls readied themselves for bed. "You are hardly used to forestry. It can be a bit unsettling at first, but there's nothing harmful about a few trees."

"Oh, you're right," Enna sighed. "I'm afraid most of what we do on this journey will be strange to me."

"I'm sure if we were on Galma instead, our roles would be quite reversed."

Enna chuckled, undoing her long, slapdash plait. "Quite. White Galmanian shores are rather different from your rocky cliffs."

"Doubtless," Lucy laughed. "I have only been there once, and then Peter and Edmund went ashore and left me and Su on board the _Jillian_. But your coasts are very different from ours, that I'll admit!"

"They are lovely, indeed, but quite a nuisance after awhile—whenever storms roll through, imagine the effort required to clean up the mess!"

"Oh, I can hardly! Wet sand everywhere, driftwood, kelp on roofs…"

"Exactly."

"Well." The young queen sighed and, having donned her nightdress, climbed into bed and pulled her covers up to her chin. "Perhaps Archenland will be more to your liking."

"Is Anvard on the coast?"

"No, sadly…it is built into the foothills of the mountains, and is all shining granite and trees, though. You will love it! Queen Rinn made a it into a lovely city before she died…"

"When did she die?" Enna asked, standing and undressing.

"Oh, but a year or two after my siblings and I were crowned, I think…the princes Cor and Corin were…well, it has been ten years since then, and they were born the year we took the thrones, so…aye, about ten years ago."

Enna frowned. "Prince Cor? I have heard nothing of him, only of Corin."

"Oh, it is a very sad business," Lucy replied, sitting up. "The year the two boys were born—twins, you know, as the Archenlanders are famous for bearing—one of King Lune's lords stole Prince Cor away!"

"By Gale, why?" Enna asked. "Who would steal a baby?"

"Cor was the heir to the throne of Archenland, and the lord was colluding with the Tisroc of Calormen." Lucy clutched her hands under her chin. "So he took the infant and sailed away. But King Lune learned of his treachery and followed! There was a great sea battle, and the traitorous lord was defeated and killed…but no sign of Prince Cor was found."

"How terrible!"

"Quite! To think of the young babe, put to the sword or even thrown into the waves—!" Lucy sniffled a little and dabbed at her eyes.

"He could not have done that," Enna replied. "No man, not even the renegade lord you speak of, could kill a child!"

"Well, Cor is gone."

"Perhaps he is not dead."

"He is dead."

Lucy looked quite convinced, so Enna decided to let the subject drop. "But you never told me about Queen Rinn."

"Ah, yes, Queen Rinn." Lucy sighed. "She was very lovely, and very regal, but also sadly weak-minded. When she learnt of the death of her first-born and heir, she took to her bed and died of a broken heart nary a month later. Left the raising of Corin to his poor beleaguered father and the council."

"How very sad, indeed."

"Oh, aye."

Enna mulled over this story in her brain as she put on her nightgown. "I can only imagine what it must be like to lose a child."

"Aye—so you must be very careful."

"What do you mean?"

Lucy giggled. "I may be young, but I do know what results from a wedding night! Have you not heard? The whole of Narnia that is with us is buzzing with anticipation for the new prince or princess!"

"I am not with child, Lucy," Enna said, quite decidedly.

"It has only been a month. Time will tell."

"Aye—and it shall tell you that I am _not_."

"Perhaps. What shall you name it?"

"I am not pregnant!"

Lucy crossed her arms and stuck out her tongue. "I think you're in denial, Enna."

"I think you're being a bit presumptuous."

"Ohhh—go get a glass of water!"

This was Lucy's way of telling Enna to begone, and Enna was glad to oblige. Sweeping her travel-stained cloak on over her nightgown, she stomped out of the tent into the cold mountain air, where fire was still flickering from supper. By its feeble light, seated on the dirty ground, Edmund was attempting to read a map.

Twigs and pine needles jabbed Enna's bare feet, but she went over to the young man, sweeping her cloak about her and sitting nearby. They had never gotten on as well as they should, being brother- and sister-in-law, and the reason why had always escaped her. But she did enjoy his company, almost as much as that of Aramir and Lucy.

"You might consider lighting a lantern," she told him.

He looked up, his blue eyes flickering over her bare shins and the white lace peeping up at the base of her throat. "You might consider going back inside, where it's warm."

"I am not cold."

"Then I can read fine in this light."

Enna shook her head. "Edmund, I can hardly see your face. How can you see the map?"

He shrugged. "Aramir has the lantern."

"Aramir? Whatever does he need it for?"

"He is looking at maps, too."

"Well, I shall tell him to bring it here. Then you may _both_ use it and save your eyes." Without waiting for Edmund to protest, she got up and scuttled across the cold grass towards Aramir's tent. He was seated at a rickety table outside it, the disputed lantern resting nearby as he, a hand fisted in his dark hair, also looked closely at maps.

Enna approached. "What are you doing?"

He looked up, a rather amused look crossing his freckled face as he took in her appearance. "I might better ask what are _you_ doing?"

"Oh, Lucy and I had a bit of a spat and she told me to get a glass of water," Enna sighed. "Yourself?"

"I am attempting to gauge the time it will take for us to get from here"—he pointed to a spot just north of the mountains—"to Anvard. Wherever that is."

"Why, it's right here." Enna put her finger on it.

"Oh."

She peered closely at him. "Aramir, you can't read. Why are you trying to do this?"

Obviously a bit self-conscious, the doe-eyed youth rubbed at his temple. "I thought that…maybe I could learn."

"To read?" Enna came around to his side of the table, drawing up a nearby chair. "You can't teach yourself to read."

"I thought I'd try."

"And it's a noble thought, indeed. But wouldn't you be happier with someone helping?"

"I could hardly ask Queen Lucy," Aramir grumbled, rubbing at his head again.

"I'm not _completely_ idiotic, you know," she replied dryly. "I can read."

He grinned. "Would you…y'know…show me the letters?"

"If you're kind enough to me."

"I'll try."

"We'll see about that. But here—this says 'Archenland.' Archenland starts with an 'A'—this is it. See?"

"Aye."

"And then this is 'R', then 'C', then 'H', then 'E', then 'N', 'L', 'A' again, 'N' again, and 'D'."

"And here is Calormen. 'C', 'A', 'L', 'O', 'R', 'M', 'E', 'N'. And Terebinthia. 'T', 'E', 'R', 'E', 'B', 'I', 'N', 'T', 'H', 'I', 'A'."

"I follow."

"Excellent. Try to remember those letters. It's late, or I'd go further—and you look tired."

"I'm a bit," Aramir admitted, rubbing again at his temple.

Enna watched the motion. "Aramir…does your head ache again?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"…All right. It hurts a bit."

"A bit?"

He grimaced painfully, and Enna sighed. Ever since the blow to the ear he'd sustained at the hand of his brother, poor Aramir had been experiencing regular headaches and even diminished hearing in that ear. Once, Lucy had whispered something to him without his knowledge, and he hadn't noticed, causing her to run to Enna in tears.

"I think it was horrible, what Minodaurus did to you."

"Well, there's nothing to be done about it, now."

"He shall get his justice, soon enough."

Aramir looked at her with his big brown eyes. "It is not revenge I want, you know."

"How can you not?" Enna shook her head. "It is your right to take blood for blood."

"But it isn't honorable."

Enna sighed. "Oh, men and their honor. It is a wonderful, vexing thing."

He chuckled and shuffled the maps together. "You ought to go back to bed, yourself."

"I will," she promised. "But I told Edmund that I would bring him the lantern—he is trying to read by firelight. Do you mind?"

"No, of course not."

Enna took it and smiled. "Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight."

She nodded and went back to the fire, holding the lantern out before her so she wouldn't step on anything painful or unpleasant. Edmund was right where she had left him, still with his nose an inch from the paper.

"You need your rest, Edmund," she said quietly, putting the lantern next to him and tucking her cloak securely about herself.

He looked up at her. "Oh—thank you. And I will."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Thus she went back into the warm tent, where Lucy was already fast asleep. It only took Enna a moment, curled securely up in her own nearby cot, to do the same.

--

"Enna, wake up."

Enna did so, rubbing at her eyes and looking around the tent. Lucy was asleep, her tousled hair hiding her face, and it was yet quite dark. Crickets hummed outside the canvas walls, but, other than that, all was quiet.

But the damage was done—Enna, now almost fully awake, sat up, sighing in annoyance. After all the talk she had given the menfolk about getting to bed on time, she herself was unable to stay asleep.

Lucy rolled over, yawning, and Enna smacked her lips. A drink of water sounded rather attractive at the moment, and so she got up and wrapped her cloak around her shoulders. The prospect of going out into the cold mountain air to find a flask did not appeal much to her sensibilities, but she was thirsty, and so wrinkled her nose and drew the flap aside.

The moon was full, and it shone brightly on the sleeping camp. The fire had quite died down, and it smoked sullenly as the embers died, but she was pleased to see that Edmund and Aramir had obeyed and gone to bed as she'd asked. In fact, it was very quiet in the little clearing, though unsettling noises were coming from the black pines that surrounded them.

Enna shivered as she lifted a flask to her lips.

"Can you not sleep, either?"

The voice startled her, and she nearly dropped the flask in her surprise. "Oh—Edmund! You gave me quite a fright!"

He looked wryly at her, his snowy white tunic glaring in the moonlight. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's all right," she said, shaking her head and taking another sip of water. "I just did not expect anyone else to be up at this late hour."

"I think it is the moon," Edmund replied. "It is very full tonight—affects sleeping patterns when it is so bright."

"Oh, I do not doubt it."

He folded his arms, the sound of his rustling shirt seeming very loud. "I think we will reach Anvard within the fortnight."

"Wonderful! I do like traveling, but I should like to sleep in a real bed for a few days." She looked over, only to see a flush creep up his cheeks. "What's wrong?"

"What? Oh, nothing."

"Hm."

As they watched the moon, white with dusky breaths of blue dotting its surface, Enna grew gradually aware of a movement in the forest. Soon, the figure commanded all of her attention, and she stared at it, trying to tell if it was a deer, or perhaps a satyr or some other two-legged creature.

"Do you see that?" Edmund said in a low voice.

Enna nodded. "What is it?"

"It looks upright."

"Aye."

"Is it Lucy? Or Aramir?"

"No—Lucy is asleep. I suppose it could be Aramir."

"What is he doing out there?"

"I have no idea."

Edmund cleared his throat and hissed for Aramir's attention. The sound, seemingly quiet, echoed off of the hillsides, reverberating multiple times. He stopped, obviously seeing the two, and turned, leaving the dark forest and heading down the slope towards them.

"Oh," Enna sighed, suddenly noticing something odd about Aramir's gait. "He looks a bit strained. I wonder if his head is aching again."

"It must be a very bad headache, indeed, to make him walk that way," Edmund replied.

Enna squinted against the blinding moonlight. "You're right—do you think he hurt his leg?"

Edmund was silent for a long moment. "I think that that isn't Aramir at all."

"What?" Enna looked at him. "How can it not be?"

"Does Aramir have a hunch on his back?"

Enna looked back at what she had previously thought was Aramir. But now that the figure was closer, she could see a slight bulge over the shoulders, dramatically pointed ears, and very oddly held arms. "Well…what is it then?" she asked, beginning to feel distinctly uneasy.

Edmund sighed. "I think that is a werewolf. Quickly, wake the others."

Enna did not have to be told twice. Throwing one last terrified glance over her shoulder at the limping monster, she ran towards her tent. "Lucy! Get up! Get up right now!"

"Why?" the young girl sighed, hiding her face in her pillow.

Enna shook her. "There's a werewolf in camp, that's why!"

This woke Lucy up rather quickly. "Oh! Oh, dear! I'm awake now!"

"Good. Get dressed!"

When she was certain Lucy was doing so, Enna scrambled from the tent and went into Aramir's. The dark-haired youth was stretched out harmlessly on his cot, looking very young and unbothered, and it pained Enna to wake him to combat. But she had to do so, and so she knelt by his side and shook him awake. "Aramir—"

His eyes blinked open, and when he saw Enna, he sat straight up. "What's wrong?"

"There's a werewolf in camp."

He nodded. "Thank you for waking me."

Enna stared as he got right out of bed and picked up his sword, Arondight, and a small leather rucksack. "Just—like that?"

He stared right back at her. "Were you expecting something else?"

A very odd-sounding snarl came from outside the tent, startling Enna back into the present. "No—no. Sorry. I must go and wake the others…"

She hurried from the tent, only to find that the others had all woken themselves up and were running from the camp, obviously quite disturbed. It took Enna a long moment to figure out why: the werewolf, with all of its drool, matted fur, and dirty claws, was having quite the fun time chasing what to him were little morsels of Narnian-flavored food. Just in time, she flung herself aside as it barreled past, pursuing a Talking cat.

At the sight of this horror, Enna's heart began to pound, and she threw a stick at the hairy beast, trying to deter it from eating the poor tabby. "Oyez—you!"

Which seemed to be a mistake. The werewolf, slobbering thick strands of saliva, turned from its feline prey and saw the human prey, and evidently decided the latter would make a better meal.

Enna turned on her heel and ran for her life. She could hear the panting of the beast close behind her, sounding very much like a dog but also much bigger—her heart pounded in her ears and behind her eyes as she ran, and sharp sticks tore at the soles of her feet. But still the beast pursued her, its giant jaws clacking together as it lengthened its strides.

She plunged into the darkness of the forest. The werewolf, with its broad shoulders and small eyes, crashed into the trees behind her, sending the Narnians that had run to the woods for refuge screaming in fright. It was oppressively dark in the forest, and the floor rocky, but she still stumbled forward, nearly blind with terror. What if she met her death at the jaws of the werewolf? After all that everyone had done for her, for all the pain and suffering the realm of Narnia had withstood, just to have her be killed in a chance encounter?

It seemed as though the beast was constantly at her heels. Enna ducked under branches, leapt over brambles, and got caught in a thicket, but to no avail—she, dripping sweat and nearly sobbing with exhaustion, was still fleeing the stalking brute nearly half an hour later. All traces of moonlight were gone, and she was in a part of the forest she had never seen before—it was silent, and dark, and eerily empty, but for the trees and underbrush.

Suddenly, as she passed under a low-hanging branch, something caught her arms and hauled her bodily into a tree, and a sweaty hand clamped over her mouth just as she was about to scream.

"Enna, _stop_! It's me, Aramir!"

All the adrenaline flowed from Enna's body at the familiar voice, and she hid her face as tears sprung to her eyes. "Oh, Aramir," she breathed, beginning to shake as her heartbeat slowed and she began to try and catch her breath.

"Hush. It's all right. I think the werewolf was chasing me for a while—but I snuck over here. We should be safe."

She could not find the strength to reply, so she simply nodded.

"You look terrible. Have you been running all this time?"

"Aye."

"Your feet are all bloody."

"Where are we?"

Aramir hesitated, and in the half-light, Enna could see him crinkle his brow in thought. "I…I don't know. Deep in the forest, that's for sure."

A twig snapped somewhere nearby, and he held a finger to his lips. Together, they waited in breathless suspense as the werewolf, breathing almost as heavily as Enna, passed beneath them, so near that its dirty fur nearly brushed Aramir's dangling foot. But soon, it was gone again, and they breathed easier.

"I think it is a good thing I brought this knapsack with me," he sighed at long last.

"Why?"

"It has a bit of food and a change of clothes."

"Why is that good?"

"Because we are in the mountains now," Aramir replied, trying to inject a note of optimism into his voice. "And I don't remember which direction we came from."


	3. Chapter Three

_A/N: Agghh, so ! What a pain, huh? I thought I would never get on again! But it gave me time to catch up on life (kinda) so enjoy!_

--

Aramir and Enna sat in the tree for what seemed like hours. The werewolf never came back to their part of the forest, at least as far as they could tell, and Enna was shivering with cold and exhaustion. Eventually, though, Aramir sighed.

"Well, what are we to do now?"

"I had hoped _you_ would have an idea," she replied, tucking her cloak more tightly about her aching legs.

He rubbed the back of his neck and dropped his head, obviously just as tired as she. "I think North is that way," he said, pointing to their left. "If we are in the mountains, as it is obvious we are, then camp is North of here. All we can do is try to find our way back."

The prospect of walking alone made Enna want to cry. "If you think that is best."

"Out of the options we currently have, aye, I think it best."

She nodded and slowly unfolded her legs, the cold air slapping against the bruised flesh. "You still have Arondight?"

"Aye. We shall be safe, as long as I can wield it. Let me help you down." He climbed out of the tree and practically dragged her from the branch. "You are poorly dressed for travel, you know."

"I could hardly plan this turn of events," she retorted, sniffing and pushing a strand of curly hair out of her face. The sharp sticks and stones littering the forest floor pressed cruelly against her torn feet, but she was able to mask any grimaces she might otherwise have displayed.

Aramir took the dirty knapsack down from his shoulder. "We'll have to make do."

"With what?"

"I told you I brought a change of clothes. You could wear them."

"Oh, Aramir—"

He looked rather sheepish as he took out the aforementioned clothing: a pair of brown trousers and a man's cream-colored tunic. "It's hardly what you're used to, and in no way fit for a queen, but…"

She scoffed. "I am no queen, don't be silly. But I won't take your clothing, anyway. What if you should need them?"

"Why would I need them? I am already dressed."

"But what if the clothes you're wearing now get dirty?"

"Getting dirty is inevitable, Enna," he teased.

"I _know_," she replied. "But I feel badly, taking them from you."

"You're in much more need of it than I. A nightdress will hardly keep you warm."

"But…"

"Just wear it."

"For your own benefit, I have to refuse."

"Is it because it's men's garb? Because I happen to know a young maiden who, up until just recently, wore a stolen—"

"Oh, this is quite different," Enna retorted, flushing. She would not have Aramir know that while she enjoyed looking neat and presentable, when it came to travel she preferred the freedom of trousers over silly hems and fancy frocks!

"Put it on, Enna."

"Never."

"Put it on."

"I won't!"

"Do it."

"No!"

"Enna!"

"Aramir!"

_"Enna!_"

_"Aramir!_"

Just when it looked as though Enna would have to knock him down to get her way, he shoved the bundle in her arms and turned his back. She almost threw the clothing at the back of his head, but oh, was the tunic soft…

"Don't expect me to capitulate to anything else," she announced, and stomped behind a tree, trying to ignore the sound of his chuckles. Making sure he wasn't looking, she quickly pulled off the sweaty nightgown she had been wearing and traded it for the tunic and trousers. It had been such a long time since she had worn men's clothing! She felt unnaturally vulnerable, with her bosom unbound and disguised beneath the tunic's fabric. But it was warm, much warmer than her nightgown had been, and smelled of soap and a hint of a faint fragrance that she didn't quite recognize, but rather liked. And the trousers, though they rubbed uncomfortably against her painful scrapes, fit well around the waist, though she was loath to admit a bit long in the leg.

"Are you finished, then?" he called.

She quickly re-plaited her tangled hair and came out from behind the tree after hiding her nightdress under a rock. "Aye."

Aramir turned around and nodded solemnly. "Very well. Are you ready to go?"

Thankfully, he wasn't teasing her. "Aye." She nodded and gingerly walked to his side.

"Your feet are bare."

"Really?"

He eyed her. "You cannot possibly expect to go without shoes. Who knows how far from camp we are!"

"I am in no pain," Enna stubbornly lied. "Besides—unless you have a pair of shoes in that pack of yours, there is nothing to be done."

Aramir looked loath to admit it, but he reluctantly nodded. "Very well. But tell me when you start to hurt—perhaps we can take turns wearing my boots."

"That won't be necessary, I assure you," she replied.

"Right, then."

"Which direction?"

"This. Try to stay near, all right?"

"Aye, _Father_," Enna teased.

He grinned. "We'll be back before lunchtime, I can feel it!"

--

_A/N: Meh. A lot shorter than I anticipated. So sorry! :S_


	4. Chapter Four

_A/N: Like this chapter didn't take long enough, my goodness! But I do have good excuses—my internet was down most of this week, so I was unable to update. :P In other news, though, IT'S THE APOCALYPSE! …Okay, not really. But it IS the start of the last heat, school-wise. Softball starts for me tomorrow, I have three papers due within the next few weeks, the SAT is a week from this Saturday, and not to mention the end of the quarter which means tests and quizzes galore (plus other stuff, but I won't bore y'all to death with explanations). _

_So, the point of all that was to warn y'all that I'm going to be SUPER busy these next few weeks, so, judging by my productivity this week, updates will slow down to about once or twice a week, probably falling on the weekends. :( I'm so sorry…I'll post a note on our profile if something big comes up, so keep an eye on that._

_Okay, Author's Note now rambling on and on, so Sushi out!_

--

Lunchtime came and went. Still, Enna and Aramir trudged their way through the thick, dark forests, each tree looking exactly the same as the last. It seemed like years had passed since that grueling night in the tree. Enna's feet were past the point of aching and simply felt as though she were treading on knives with each step; even Aramir, though he valiantly tried to hide it, stumbled occasionally and had his fair share of dark bruises on his shins.

The worst part about it, however, was Enna's empty stomach. It had been nearly twelve hours, at least, since she'd last ate, and almost that long since she'd had a drink of water. At first, her belly had grumbled at her constantly, but after a few minutes, fell into a dizzy silence that was worse than the noise.

"Are you sure you don't wish to try my boots?" Aramir asked for the millionth time.

"Aye."

"You're bleeding."

"I don't care."

He didn't look too pained that she had refused his offer, and they continued slogging through the thick, muting needles. It seemed to Enna every so often that they were headed uphill, not downhill, but as soon as the thought would pop into her foggy mind, the ground would level out and travel would continue normally. But still the nagging thought chafed at the back of her brain.

"Aramir…"

"What is it?"

"I…I'm really very hungry."

"I am too. There's few handfuls of that yetmis in my haversack, but it's not much."

"I suppose we ought to save it until we are near hopeless…"

"Aye. I have a feeling we will be walking a great deal farther than I thought."

"Are you sure we're headed in the right direction?"

He looked dryly at her. "I'm a sailor. I'm _quite_ sure."

"Aye, master," she retorted.

A rumble of thunder made the ground under their feet tremble. Aramir looked up at the sky, shrouded in dark leaves, shaking his head. "Just what we need, eh?"

"Lovely," Enna grumbled.

"I suppose we had better stop now, before it gets much darker," Aramir replied. "I will try and build up a fire."

"Where shall we sit?"

"Nowhere near any dead trees, that's for sure."

She pointed at a large, ancient-looking ashberry tree, its warped and spotted roots coiling up and around boulders nestled at its base. "What about that one?"

He nodded. "Find a comfortable nook to sit in—I'll go and fetch some kindling."

Enna was all too glad to oblige him. Her way lighted in an unnatural way by a distant flash of lightning, she hobbled over to the massive lattice of roots and settled into a snug recess in the tangle, her back pressed consolingly against solid wood. There was enough room in this little hollow for them both to sit in, relatively shielded from the rain, and also keep up a small fire.

"I'm over here," she called when she heard Aramir's step nearby.

He clambered clumsily over the roots and joined her, keeping his dark head ducked to keep it from striking the dangerously low overhang Enna had snuggled in to. "I found plenty of tinder, that's good."

"Any animals?"

"Not a one. It's as if they're all still hibernating." As he spoke, he struck a spark into the little mound of dead grass and twigs with a pair of stones, and soon had a sorry little flame snapping in the dirt.

"How odd," Enna mused, holding her aching feet up to the heat.

"How are your feet?"

She blushed and quickly drew them back under her ragged cloak. "They're first-rate, thank you."

"Don't be foolish."

"I'm not. They don't hurt a wink."

"So if I do this—" And he quite cruelly squeezed her toes! Enna scarcely contained a howl of pain, and glared angrily at him.

"What was that for!"

"To prove that you're lying."

"That was no reason to assail me!"

"I hardly touched you."

"Yes, you did, you pinched me quite roughly."

"I did no such thing. It only _feels_ that way, because your feet are so sore."

She gave him a black look, wanting dearly to wipe that knowing look off of his freckly face. "Very well—so, what?"

"Aha! So you _were_ lying!"

"And?"

Aramir gloated at her misfortune. "It seems to me that I'll be wrestling you into a pair of boots come morning."

"I refuse to wear them!"

"You can't possibly _walk_ with your feet looking like they do."

"How do you know what they look like?" Enna challenged.

"It's hardly a stretch of the imagination to visualize."

She glowered into the tiny fire. "They're not _that_ bad."

Aramir sighed and retreated further into the little nook as raindrops began pattering on the dry leaves around them. "Perhaps not, but any wound gone untreated is more likely to get worse than better."

"Well, what do you suggest we _do_?" Enna retorted, looking over at him. "There's hardly a roll of bandages or salve tucked away in my pockets."

Aramir eyed her. "Give me your cloak."

"What? No!"

"Trust me."

"Why should I?"

"Because if you don't, the consequences'll be far worse than anything I can manage to do with your cloak."

Enna growled at him, but reluctantly let him tug the article away from her shoulders. "What are you going to do with it?" she asked, shivering a little bit in the sudden damp chill.

He drew Arondight from its sheath and, before Enna had a chance to react, severed the cloak near in half.

"What have you _done_?" she cried, her heart stopping. "What am I to wear now?"

"Calm yourself, Enna," he replied with a sigh, handing back the half with the hood. "It will be no shorter than your knees."

She threw the cloak back over her shoulders and found that, indeed, he had only removed a portion of the bottom half, and that the thing's hem still fell below her knees. "Very well, then. But don't ever do that again."

He winked teasingly at her before setting about tearing the dirty fabric into long strips, setting one or two out in the rain for a few minutes. "These bandages are hardly clean, but they will have to do for our purposes."

"Which are…?"

"Hardly worth the time to explain." So saying, Aramir took the now wholly soaked bits of cloak in out of the rain. "Let me see your feet."

"Never."

"Enna…!"

Unenthusiastically, Enna unfolded her legs to display her swollen, dirty, discolored feet. "Are you satisfied now?" she asked, her cheeks blazing in shame.

"Aye. But I shall be even more so if you promise to hold still."

"Why?"

"This may sting."

Enna put her hands over her eyes and nodded, and he took one of her feet in his big hands and began gently cleaning the grime and dried blood from it. The task would have made Enna ill, or at least highly disagreeable, but he went about the unpalatable work with an unruffled calm, looking as though he were used to such objectionable chores. When this was done, he took a few of the previously torn makeshift bandages and wrapped them tightly around the offending appendage, and then did the same thing to the other foot.

"There. Was that so bad?" he asked, looking up at her.

Enna peered through her fingers and shook her head.

"Good. I can't promise the bandages will stay put, but at least it should help."

She put her hands down and looked at her feet, grimacing at how comical they looked, bound up in dark green wool as they were. "I suppose we'll find out."

He nodded and wrinkled his nose as he gazed up at the tree over their heads, catching a few raindrops on his cheeks. "Hopefully we'll find camp soon—I wouldn't be surprised if this rain turns to snow later tonight. It's certainly cold enough."

Enna looked at Aramir, his face thrown into sharp relief by the firelight—he was really very kind to her, but she couldn't _tell_ him that. Instead, making a show of her displeasure, she took her cloak off and draped it over his shoulders, moving closer to the small fire and shaking her wild plait down over her shoulder to hide her face.

"Enna, I don't need your cl—"

"Just take it," she grumbled. "It's cold, and you're taking first watch."

His chuckle was low, genial, but it made her flush and turn away. "Very well. I do thank you. But try and sleep, now, before it gets too cold."

She muttered in response and curled up on her side, her hair brushing the dirty ground as she tucked her bandaged feet up. "You'll wake me for my watch, won't you?"

Aramir looked over at her and stirred the fire up with a long stick, and it flared warmly against the chill air. "Of course."

"Good."

"Goodnight, then."

She stifled a yawn. "Goodnight."


	5. Chapter Five

_A/N: Ugh. I'm not even going to attempt to bore you with sob stories. Here's chapter 5!_

--

Enna woke slowly to the same cold dampness that she had fallen asleep to. Morning had come, and a thick fog clung to the trunks of the trees that surrounded them; in front of her, crouched by the fire, was Aramir, heavy-lidded but concentrating intensely on what seemed to be a hunk of meat that sizzled on a makeshift spit.

At the sight, Enna sat up straight, rubbing her eyes as she pushed her cloak away. "Aramir! Where did you find that?"

He looked up. "Good morning to you, as well. I came across it a few minutes ago."

"What is it?"

"Just a Dumb squirrel."

She crawled to the fireside and held her hands up to it, shivering with delight at the warmth against her palms and the delicious smell of the meat. "It looks first-rate."

"I can't guarantee that it'll _taste_ first-rate, but it's better than nothing." He chuckled and turned the spit.

_"Anything_ would taste good to me today," Enna said, yawning and stretching luxuriously. Now that her feet were beginning to heal, she'd enjoyed a deep, uninterrupted rest. "How did you sleep?"

Aramir took the spit off of the fire, the meat sizzling, and set it on a smooth rock for it to cool. "Poorly enough to keep away unwanted visitors, eh?"

As distracted by the meat as she was, Aramir's blithe comment pricked uncomfortably at Enna's brain. "I…I…_oh, Aramir,_ you ninny—why didn't you wake me?"

He shrugged. "I wasn't tired, and you obviously needed the rest. I suspect your feet feel better?"

"That has nothing to do with it," she retorted, reaching across the small fire to lightly pinch his arm. "You've gotten no sleep."

"I dozed."

"You lie."

Aramir took the spit off of the rock and tore a good amount off before handing the rest to her. "Go on and eat—neither of us have done so in a while."

Enna almost refused—but oh, did the squirrel smell good! So, growling at him, she ate her fill, the dry flesh tasting better to her ravenous tongue than kings' fare. At last, her hunger appeased and her pique quite forgotten, she wiped her hands on her trousers and said, "Where to now?"

Groaning with the strain, Aramir got to his feet and slid Arondight back into its sheath. "Same as yesterday. We're close. I can feel it."

Enna tossed him his satchel and stood up, the ground oozing under her loosely bound feet. "Then let us carry on, by all means."

Aramir stomped out the fire, and the smoke rose up towards the misty branches overhead. "Aye—let's."

And so the pair set out again, the wet ground quickly soaking both Aramir's boots and Enna's rags. (But this was much more comfortable than bare feet, as she quickly discovered.) The haze dampening the air did not clear as the morning wore on, but rather seemed to thicken as the forest floor grew rockier and boulders became almost as common as trees. It seemed to Enna that they were not going back down the mountainside towards camp, but rather _up_ the mountainside—but, then again, she was not a sailor, and had limited knowledge of direction and travel.

But, as night began to fall and they had left the trees not for grassy hills but for sheer, ragged rock walls, Enna began to suspect that perhaps she was right, after all. The direction Aramir was leading them in was rough and strewn with shards of dark rock, and she could scarcely see five feet in front of her for the mist. He seemed confident, though, despite the fact that their footsteps echoed off of the precipitous ledges that loomed overhead.

That is, until they reached a fork in the path. Aramir faltered noticeably, and rubbed his neck once before heading partly down one way and then coming back.

"Aramir," Enna ventured at last.

"Aye, Enna?"

She cleared her throat. "Erm…do you think that, perhaps, we might be headed in the wrong direction? Mayhap?"

Aramir's hand stopped moving against his neck, and his dark head dropped. "I had rather hoped you wouldn't notice," he sighed.

Enna blinked, then lowered herself to the ground in defeat, her legs aching from the strain of the journey. "When did you first begin to realize we were headed in the wrong way?"

"About an hour or so ago."

"And what did you think was going to happen if we kept going?"

"That we might emerge on the other side of the mountain?"

"Aramir…!"

"I'm a sailor, not a scout, Enna! If you had suspected I was leading ill, you might have said something!"

"Well, I thought that you would know better than I, being a _sailor and all!_"

"Since when do Galmanian sailors have knowledge of foreign mountains? I'd never even _seen_ a mountain before this month!"

"Then why did you offer to guide us if you had no idea?"

"I did no such thing!"

"You did!"

"What was I supposed to do—sit there in that tree with you until we both _died_?"

Their angered voices clamored loudly off the rock walls, and Enna winced as the last ringing echoes died away. Sighing, she looked up at Aramir and said in a gentler tone, "Well, I suppose there's nothing to be done to fix the whole mess _now_. We must either go back or choose one of these paths and hope it brings us to somewhere civilized. And it'll do us no good to pettifog each other."

With an exhausted groan, Aramir sat down beside her with a puff of dust. "I would rather perish in the mountains than wandering forever in that blasted wood."

Enna managed a half-laugh. "That makes us both, my friend. Thus, we are at a crossroads. Quite literally. Which of the paths shall we take?"

They stared at the options. Both were shrouded in fog, as was the track they were already on; the path breaking away to the right was narrow and dim, and the ground littered with stones, while the path to the left was wider and, though not sunny, significantly brighter than the previous. Its floor was rocky dirt with considerably fewer stones and obstacles than the other, as well.

"I am inclined towards the port one," Aramir said after a long pause.

Enna thought a moment. The one that he had suggested was the most appealing and the least perilous by far. "Aye. Then we shall take it."

"Right." Aramir got to his feet and helped her up. "This is the way we will go."

They shouldered their burdens and set out, and Enna, right on Aramir's heels, was about to follow him down the path when she happened to glance down the starboard path—and saw Aslan. The great lion stood between the two great rock walls, his tawny mane damp with dew but his golden eyes as bright as ever. He was a good distance down the path, so far away that the fog seemed to engulf him and then break away every so often, but he stood quite still, watching her expectantly.

"Aramir, _wait!_"

Aramir turned from the wide path and went back to where she stood, staring down the narrow passage. "What is it?"

"Aslan!" she replied, pointing at the hazy, yet very distinct, figure of the great lion. "Don't you see him?"

There was silence behind her for a moment. "No, Enna, I see nothing."

Enna turned to look at Aramir incredulously. "How can you not? He is right there!" She pointed again as Aslan's tail twitched and his golden eyes caught hers. "Well, I'm going to go say hello."

But as she stepped foot onto the rocky path, Aslan nodded and turned away, and a moment later, he was swallowed up by the mist.

"Enna, stop. Are you trying to unnerve me?" Aramir caught her by the wrist. "Come along."

She wrenched free and began hurrying down the rugged path. "No—Aslan went _this_ way. And it is this way I will go. Follow me if you like, but I shan't wait for you!"

_"Enna!_"

Aramir's shout echoed off of the walls, but Enna hurried on, tripping over stones as she followed Aslan. The mist kept drifting aside, revealing a waving tail or a pair of haunches, spurring Enna's aching feet to keep moving; she stumbled occasionally in the deep paw prints he left behind.

At long last, she heard footsteps behind her. Relieved, she paused momentarily and waited for Aramir, who avoided her gaze as he approached. Several snide comments crowded to the front of her tongue, but she decided to let them die away, choosing instead to smile at him and continue on the trek shoulder-to-shoulder.

Night fell. Aslan, still shrouded in the mist, returned to them as Aramir set about clearing away stones so they could sleep in relative comfort, and stood silently nearby as the doe-eyed youth stretched out to sleep, leaving Enna to sit up for the watch. She sat with her back against the cold rock, hoping that the great lion would speak to her, for it was a bit unnerving, sitting in the dark with nothing but Arondight across her knees to protect them. But Aslan, still unmoving but for his tail, spoke only once:

"Sleep easy, my daughter, for I will keep the watch tonight."

It took no more than this for Enna to oblige. She laid down on the hard ground and tucked her cloak around her; Aslan stepped around her and settled down on his stomach like a cat with his warm fur pressed against Aramir, who slept on as if nothing had happened. All of Enna's instincts told her to keep awake, but she was incomprehensibly warm and sleepy. Hoping dearly that Aslan would not betray her trust, she closed her eyes, and quickly thereafter fell asleep.

--

The next morning, Enna awoke to Aslan's mane tickling her nose. She sat up quickly, rubbing her eyes, and said, "Will you lead us again today, Aslan?"

Aslan chuckled, and smiled as much as a lion may. "For a little while, my daughter."

Enna, conjecturing accurately that she was not apt to get much else out of him, rolled over to wake Aramir. "Aslan will lead us again today, Aramir—all we must do is follow. Isn't that wonderful?"

He, too, rubbed his eyes, but did not turn to Aslan. "Enna, I wish you wouldn't say things like that. Aslan is not leading us—I would be able to see him, too, if he were."

This made Enna understandably a bit angry. "Well, why did you follow me, then?" she demanded, tossing Arondight into his lap.

"As odd as it might sound," he replied calmly, "I _do_ care for you, and would rather not know I sent you off to face your certain death alone."

Enna huffed and got quickly to her feet. "Well, we shall see who is right soon enough, I expect."

Aramir shrugged soberly and buckled his sword at his waist. "I suppose we shall."

"We are ready, _Aslan_," Enna said pointedly to the great lion, who was no longer hidden by mist and fog and stood right in front of Aramir.

Aslan nodded mutely and turned, and Enna followed.

As they continued down the path, it gradually grew brighter; Enna initially attributed this to the rising of the sun, but as they went on, the mists drew aside and warm sunshine shone down on their shoulders. Hope in Aslan as well as in herself flooded her chest, and it did not go unfulfilled; rather, just as Aramir stopped suddenly and said, "I think I see him—", they broke out of the pass and stood at the edge of a rocky precipice, gazing down at rolling green hills and bright blue skies.

They had come to Archenland.


	6. Chapter Six

_A/N: Boy, are y'all lucky! My SAT is on Saturday, the end of the school term is this Friday, I've had 3-hour softball practice every day for the past week, and I STILL found time to update! :D Wow! But—don't expect anymore until probably after Saturday. It's not very wise to be writing when I ought to be studying…:P_

--

"Do you believe me now?"

"Fine. Aye. I believe you. You win. Are you happy?"

Enna grinned broadly, ignoring the wed mud that had long since soaked her bandages. "Aye, very much—thank you."

Aramir grunted darkly, his feet making wet _sploosh_ sounds as the two of them trekked laboriously across a rain-soaked pasture. "I still don't understand why _you_, of all people, saw Aslan, and I didn't."

"Perhaps you simply weren't looking."

He opened his mouth to reply, then seemed to think better of it and shut it again.

Enna beamed.

At last, Aramir spoke again: "Ahh—civilization at last." He pointed towards a damp wooden fence, its wood mossy but neat.

"I hope it's Anvard," Enna sighed.

"Unfortunately, I would be much surprised if it were," Aramir sighed. "We are just over the mountains, and Anvard is several leagues south of them."

"Blast."

Aramir clambered clumsily over the stile and held his arms out to help Enna down over it, sinking nearly ankle-deep into the mud. "But at least we're getting somewhere."

"I only hope we're climbing _out_ of this pasture, rather than _in_," Enna replied, glancing over her shoulder as they slipped and slid down a shallow slope.

"I think out."

"Why?"

Aramir pointed. Just beyond a small grove of trees, settled on a flat, grassy plain littered with half-buried rocks, sat a large country manor, thick growths of ivy crawling up the warm stone walls, and a broad, fenced garden with rows upon rows of perfectly green plants. Snowy-white pennants fluttered from the red brick roof, and a group of swallows roosted happily on the puffing chimney.

"It's lovely!" Enna said.

"Aye—quite different from Narnia," Aramir replied.

"I do like it."

"Shall we stop in for a bite?"

Enna looked at him with astonishment. "'Stop in for a bite'? We can't just 'stop in for a bite'—we're just dirty travelers!"

He returned the look with a slightly exaggerated eye roll. "One of whom is the queen of Narnia, you seem to forget."

It was Enna's turn to come up with a snappy response and then forget it. "…Will they believe us?"

"Well, they've got to," Aramir replied.

"They won't unless we convince them."

"We'll convince them, then.'

"How?"

"…Erm…"

Enna sighed. "Well, I suppose there's nothing to be done but give it a whirl. At least we can say we tried, eh?"

"Attalass." Aramir secured his pack on his shoulder and led the way across the rocky pasture towards the building. Right across the property ran a little canal, over which the two muddy migrants leapt easily; and a curious but fat old guard dog barked once at them from his bed under a shady cherry tree.

"They seem quite trusting, don't they?" Enna whispered as they approached a quaint green door set into one of the walls.

"Archenlanders are of a nicer sort than Galmanians," Aramir replied, and reached up to knock on the door.

Enna held her breath.

A moment passed, and then the door opened, revealing a stout woman in a green dress that was shockingly short—it showed her boots!—and a flour-stained apron. "Can I help you, dearies?" she asked.

Enna opened her mouth to speak, but Aramir cut across her. "Pardon our intrusion, my good lady," he said with a deep and respectful bow, "but my mistress, Her Majesty Enwynna, Queen of Narnia, Lady of Cair Paravel, Duchess of the Eastern Isles, and Dame of Lantern Waste, desires a mere drink of water and morsel of bread from your esteemed master's table."

Enna blinked and tried to look as regal as possible despite the mud and sweat.

The stout lady in green hardly looked impressed. "Your ploy is a clever one, boy," she said dryly, "but Their Majesties are already here at Dorovan Hall. Try Stornoway Castle, two leagues south of here. _Their_ master's thick enough to believe you." And she went to close the door.

"Wait!" Enna cried. "Their Majesties are here already? Is it His Majesty King Edmund and Her Majesty Queen Lucy?"

"Aye. Now run along, children…"

Aramir blocked the door with his arm. "My good lady, is that how you speak to the wife of the high king? I demand you let us enter!"

The lady turned white as the flour on her apron. "Get away, you brute!" she shrieked, flapping her hands under her double chin. "Get away! Ohh, Swin! Swinton! Help me! Help your dear mother—ruffians are swarming the gates!"

Before Enna could grab Aramir's sleeve and run, two identical, broad-shouldered young men emerged from the depths of the room behind the woman in green. Aramir reached for Arondight, and Enna for a nearby rock, but Swin and Swinton pushed past their mother and took hold of his arms, dragging him away from the door.

"Let go!" Enna bellowed, running after them and pelting their broad backs with pebbles. "Let go of him, I demand it!"

Too late. Aramir had put up a good show, but the combined strengths of the two Archenlandian twins proved too much for him. With a gigantic heave, they pitched him into the canal, where he landed with a splash and an indignant roar. Enna was ready for them when they turned to her: both fists up, she kicked and squirmed and hit and made a general racket as they attempted to do the same to her—such a racket, in fact, that it drew quite a crowd. Aramir managed to climb out of the canal, but Swin (or Swinton, it was hard to tell the difference) pushed him rudely back into the cold water, leaving Enna to defend herself.

"What in Colvin's name is going on here? Masters Swin and Swinton, I demand that you cease and desist _this instant!_"

It took a long moment for Enna to realize that her two assailants had taken all hands off of her. A thin, white-bearded old man, dressed in fine clothes, was rushing across the dusty courtyard towards her, his knobby legs carrying him as fast as he would go.

"Are you all right, young lass?" he asked, taking Enna's fisted hands in his cold and wrinkled ones. "I apologize most sincerely for the conduct of my cook and her sons."

Enna nodded breathlessly.

"And you, young lad—" The old man hurried to help Aramir, now sopping wet, clamber out of the canal. "Please accept my sincerest apologies."

Aramir waved a hand, shaking his head briskly to fling the water out of his hair. "Do not apologize for them, dear sir. It was not your fault." But he glared pointedly at the two twins.

"Aramir! _Enna!_"

Enna looked up in time to see the crowd part—Lucy, her long hair streaming out behind her, flew towards her, little puffs of dust coming up with each footstep. "Oh, Enna—I was so afraid you were dead!" The young queen flung her arms around Enna with such force that the two nearly fell backwards. "And Aramir!"

Scarcely had Lucy released Enna than she found herself caught up in another pair of bone-crushing arms—but the person that they belonged to was significantly taller than Lucy. It was Edmund, which surprised Enna to such a degree that it took her a minute to return the embrace—she had never seen such a show of emotion from the young man before, besides that towards his younger sister!

"Oh, we are so glad to see you both alive," came Lucy's muffled voice as she clung almost desperately to Aramir's sopping shoulders.

"Did you think us _dead_, then?" Enna asked, wriggling free from Edmund's firm grip.

Lucy and Aramir parted, the front of the young queen's gown now just as wet as Aramir's tunic. "Aye," she said, dragging at her eyes.

"There, there, Lu," said Edmund, his own voice hoarse, "there's no need to get all emotional…"

"Oh, don't tell _me_ not to get emotional, _King Ed_," she retorted. _"I_ was not the one wanting to scour every league of those blasted woods. I told you that if Enna and Aramir were alive, they would be able to find their way on their own. And did they? Aye."

Edmund looked Enna up and down, and she blushed, remembering her trousers and rag-bound feet. "They look the worse for wear, though," he said dryly, much to her mortification. "Come along, friends, and let us get you cleaned up. My good Lord Dorovan, I'm afraid we must trespass on your hospitality a little longer than expected."

The little old man with the white beard that had previously broken up the scuffle now bowed low to Edmund. "Aye, my lord king, of course. I will have chambers readied for Your Highnesses and friends, and perhaps hot baths and fresh clothing for the newcomers…?"

"That would be much appreciated," Lucy said happily. "You are very good, Lord Dorovan."

Lord Dorovan beamed under his thick beard. "It is my pleasure, Your Majesty. And—I _do_ apologize most deeply for the conduct of my menservants—"

"Think nothing of it," Edmund said. "I am sure Enna and Aramir harbor no ill will."

Enna didn't know about Aramir, but she nodded politely.

"Then all is well." Lord Dorovan clapped his hands. "Most excellent. Largo, Gal, Callan—if you will kindly escort our foreign friends to their chambers, hot water might be drawn for baths."

Enna couldn't resist a grin—baths and fresh clothes! How deliciously foreign these concepts sounded! Edmund squeezed her arm and said, "We shall see you in a but a while, Enna—and we sure are pleased you're back with us again."

--

_A/N: Bit o' trivia—what is special about the Archenlander Lord Dorovan? :D Cookies and special mention next chapter for those who get it right! _


	7. Chapter Seven

_A/N: I live! W00t! Thanks for being so patient for this chapter, guys—things didn't calm down around here after the SAT like I thought they would. And, even though I'm now officially on spring break, I still have a ton to do. Things ain't gonna get any better until school's out for summer! :P _

_Anyway, here's chapter 7—enjoy!_

_--_

_A hot bath._

Enna hadn't had a real one in months. As it were, it took a good three quarters of an hour soaking in the tub to rid herself of all the plastered-on dirt and general grime she'd earned by trekking nearly fifty leagues in all types of weather—the baths she'd partaken in on the campaign had hardly been sufficient. (Her hair, also encrusted with mud and little bits of gravel, had taken a whole fifteen minutes to detangle.)

But now, she was lounging on a soft davenport by a thick-paned window, gazing out at the rolling Archenlandian hills as her hair, now several inches longer than it had been at Cair Paravel, dried into riotous curls. A maid—a Daughter of Eve, nevertheless!—was crouched nearby, digging through a musty-smelling old cedar chest.

"Your Highness finds my master quite unused to receiving gentlewomen," the maid said in her lilting Archenlandian accent. (Enna found it stronger, yet just as pleasant, as those of the Narnians.) "I am afraid we have no such finery as Your Majesty is accustomed to."

"It is no matter to me at all," Enna replied dryly. "I will be content with a simple frock."

"Nevertheless, Your Majesty, my master has commanded me to find you a suitable robe. You seem to be much taller and long-limbed than my mistress. She is merely sixteen."

"As I said before," Enna began.

"But you appear to be of similar stature to my former mistress, may she rest in peace." So saying, the maid drew out a wad of green and yellow cloth. "If Your Majesty is ready to dress, luncheon is waiting…"

Enna grimaced, but she had a feeling that arguing with Naeomi, her dryad attendant, was quite a safer matter than arguing with this Archenlander. "Aye. Thank you."

The maid merely curtsied and helped Enna with her wrapper. Though she was standing awkwardly in her bare skin, Enna did not feel as cold as she had in Narnia—a benefit of the more southerly location of this country.

Over her head, the maid pulled a soft yellow frock, simple and brushing Enna's ankles (the sleeves were a bit too short), followed by the dark green overdress, a good deal plainer and looser than the Narnian and Galmanian finery Enna was used to. Around Enna's waist the maid cinched a finely tooled leather belt and tucked the green dress securely over it, leaving her feet bare and unstilted by cloth. Enna touched the garments—they smelled musty and were a bit moth-eaten, but they were much more comfortable and unostentatious than Narnian gowns! She could move her legs freely in the dress, without fear of tripping on a hem or dragging some fine fabric through dirt.

"One last thing, Your Majesty," said the maid as Enna moved to put on the castle slippers.

Enna looked up to see the maid holding a gossamer kerchief. "What is that for?"

"Why," said the maid, "it is for Your Majesty's hair, of course."

_So much for comfort_, Enna thought darkly, letting the maid pin the silly thing to her head. It was a creamy white color, and it trailed down Enna's hair to the middle of her back, the light auburn color of her curls a mere tint beneath it. "Tell me, what is the purpose of this?" she asked the maid, tugging a lock of her hair out from under it.

"It is the vogue," replied the maid.

Enna sighed. "Very well."

The maid curtsied and bowed herself towards the door. "If Your Majesty pleases, my master has had luncheon set out for you and your royal companions."

"Thank you," Enna replied.

The maid nodded and bolted from the room, leaving Enna feeling rather foolish still seated in her chair. How was she to know where, exactly, the maid's master was serving luncheon? Enna had never liked snooping—but there was no other alternative.

She sighed, getting to her feet and leaving the small chamber. The wooden floorboards under her feet, illuminated with sunlight streaming in through the many windows, creaked as she went down the hall, and somewhere, someone was playing gently on a lyre. The music, muffled somewhat by the stone and plaster walls, was light and airy, and very foreign-sounding to Enna's ears. They had lyres in Narnia and Galma, but never before had she heard it played in this manner…

Aramir was leaning against the sill of one window, the panes thrown wide open to let the warm May breeze ruffle his hair. He had, too, been bathed and dressed in the Archenlandian style, but his head was bowed and his sleeve rolled up as he gazed pensively at the puckered white scar marring his forearm. Enna winced—she remembered when he'd gotten that scar at the hand of a Galmanian.

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

He looked up, startled. "Begging your pardon—come again?"

"Does your arm hurt?" Enna repeated more clearly.

"No." Aramir dropped the sleeve and straightened. "You look much better now that you're clean, Enna."

She tossed her head defiantly, putting her hands at her hips. "Aye—odd how that works, isn't it? _You_, my kind sir, look much better now that you're dry."

Clearly entertained by her vexation, Aramir grinned at her. "Are you ready for luncheon, then? King Edmund told me to 'escort Her Majesty to the meal'."

"I have been ready since we left Cair!" Enna responded enthusiastically. "Escort me with all haste!"

"There's no need to tell me twice," Aramir replied dryly. "Come—it has been far too long since we have had a decent meal."

Enna followed willingly. He led her down the winding staircase, his high boots making no noise on the steps, and down into the spacious reception hall that opened into a cozy dining room. Edmund and Lucy and the white-bearded old man were already sitting at a polished table laden with food—it took all of Enna's self-restraint to keep from running to it and burying her face in the first bowl of soup she could reach.

"Ah, the weary travelers," said the old man, standing at their approach. "Please, Your Majesty, be seated."

Enna went to sit at Lucy's right, but the younger girl gave her such a steely look that Enna gave her spot to Aramir (whom Lucy had wanted to sit by in the first place) and walked around the table to sit at Edmund's left. "Thank you, kind sir."

"It is nothing," he replied lightly. "All I ask in return is to humor me with tales of your journeys. But even that can wait—you must be absolutely famished! What bad taste it is of me to keep you from your meal. Please, eat."

"You are very kind to us, Lord Dorovan," said Lucy, neatly sipping a spoonful of stew while Enna and Aramir tried to eat as quickly as possible without seeming rude. "My royal siblings and I look forward to the day that you will return to Cair Paravel."

"Ah, my good king and queens," said Lord Dorovan, his pale eyes twinkling beneath his thick white eyebrows. "Such is the longing throbbing in my own heart! When my daughter is of age, however, I will consider taking up my position in your blessed court once again."

"Your daughter?" said Edmund. "Forgive me, but I was not aware you had one."

"Aye, I do. Her name is Arrania Ileana, and she is the very likeness of my late wife. She is my pride and joy—and soon I must find her a husband." Lord Dorovan folded his wrinkled old hands together in front of him, smiling rather sadly.

"You must bring her to Cair with you!" enthused Lucy. "I daresay if _I_ were her age, I would be delighted to travel with my papa."

"Indeed, Your Majesty, she is your age, or a little younger," said Lord Dorovan. "She is just sixteen summers."

"Then you _must_ bring her along!" Lucy cried. "I desire to meet her!"

Enna chanced a glance at Edmund as she drank from her goblet—he did not look very interested in the conversation.

"I am afraid she is rather ill, Your Highness," Lord Dorovan replied. "The rainy season is just coming upon us, and a serving wench brought her a slight indisposition. She is hardly fit to be out of bed."

"That _is_ a shame," Lucy sighed. "And I doubt we will trespass on your hospitality long enough to see her well."

"Speaking of which," Edmund broke in, seeing Enna at last lay her spoon down. "I believe we promised you tales, Lord Dorovan."

Enna had just begun to feel contently stuffed, and the prospect of storytelling made her cheeks flush happily. "Aye."

Lord Dorovan's eyes twinkled as he settled back into his seat. "Very well, then—how have you come to Archenland, in such a bedraggled and tattered state as you were?"

Edmund cleared his throat, glancing at Enna. "Well, my good sir, it's a very long story, so I shall do my best to tell it succinctly.

"Around the time of the harvest moon, a ship entered our harbor at Cair Paravel. It was a Galmanian merchant ship, lightly armed and bearing 150 souls. It docked at our wharf, and the captain disembarked to Cair Paravel, bearing in captivity a stowaway."

"Ah, aye, sea rats," said Lord Dorovan, nodding solemnly. "What nuisances they are."

Enna flushed and looked away.

"The captain demanded recompense from my royal siblings and I for the distress and supplies the stowaway cost him. However, my royal siblings and I found the captain guiltier than his victim, and cast him from our harbor.

"Several months passed. It was late November when a missive for my brother, the high king, arrived by boat—it was from a Galmanian lord, demanding the return of the stowaway that we had given sanctuary to. My brother sent word to him that the stowaway was no longer in Narnia, though they were, and we thought all was well.

"However, it was in late January when suddenly, without warning, a fleet of Galmanian ships arrived and set fire to our harbors."

"Fire!" exclaimed Lord Dorovan at this point.

"It was terrible," replied Lucy, nodding gravely.

"My brother the high king armed all of Cair Paravel and put out the blaze before it ruined our fleet of docked ships. We were assured parley with the Galmanian aggressors—but upon rising the next morn, found all ships emptied and the Great River breached!"

Lord Dorovan gaped at Edmund.

"Aye. So our troops were mobilized, and we pursued the enemy into Narnia, engaging them on several occasions. However, just north of the Archen Mountains, they escaped our grasp and have fractioned their number—my brother is currently pursuing the fragment that remains in Narnia. The good portion of their strength, though, has streamed over the pass and into Archenland. We are sure they are bent on gaining Archenland as an ally against us."

His knobby fingers tapping on the table, Lord Dorovan stared at four young people in front of him. "And is this true?" he asked.

"By our honor, and by the Great Lion's mane," said Lucy. "It is all true."

"And…that explains how you came to Archenland?"

Edmund glanced at Enna again. "Well, not exactly. About a week or two ago, our camp was attacked by a werewolf, a remnant of the White Witch's army, and was thrown into disarray. We regrouped about an hour after the assault, but Her Majesty Enwynna and Sir Aramir were nowhere to be found. And yet…here they are, with us again."

Enna found all eyes on her. She sighed—they wanted a story, and she had just begun to get sleepy. "Aramir and I came upon each other deep in the woods," she said. "The werewolf chased me there, and we had to take cover in a lofty tree for many hours. Once the danger had passed, we began to walk in the direction we thought we had come—but, as we found out several days later, we were only heading higher into the mountains."

She looked at Aramir for assistance, but he only nodded. "At last, we came to a pass, and after a few hours of walking through it, we came out of the mountains into Archenland."

"That quickly?" Edmund asked.

"It felt quick."

"We were apart for two weeks."

"Well, what were _you_ doing?"

"We were making our way with the rest of the camp through the valley pass! They are here, as well, resting in the stables, all forty of them."

"I was worried _sick_," Lucy sighed, gazing up at Aramir.

"I cannot say I was not similarly concerned," Edmund said gruffly.

Enna remembered his bone-crushing hug and nodded. "But here we are, together again."

"Aye." Edmund leaned forward. "And, as Lord Dorovan so aptly put it, the rainy season is coming on—that means we must set off again as soon as we may, before the rains make travel impossible. We _must_ make it to Anvard before Galma."

The sweet old man sat blinking confusedly at them all. "I scarcely know what to make of your stories, oh royal ones, but I do understand Archenland—and the rainy season is mere days away. If there are, indeed, such pressing matters as you say, then I advise you, with all earnestness, to leave at once upon the dawn tomorrow. And if your tales about the Galmanians' barbarity are true, then I urge you, for the good of the North, to fly with all haste to Anvard!"

"Then our decision was a good one?" Edmund asked. "To split our rulers for war and for diplomacy?"

"As a statesman, I can assure you it was a happy judgment, indeed," Lord Dorovan said seriously, clasping Edmund's hand. "And I am willing to assist this endeavor as much as I am able to."

Edmund sighed grimly, shaking his dark head. "We might have need of it—more need than we now might expect."

_--_

_A/N2: Okay, here are the winners of last chapter's trivia contest! _

**bookwurm23**

**elemental13**

**xforgottenxmemoriesx**

**Sunflower729**

**floppyearsthebunny**

_Congratulations, guys! _

_The answer was: Lord Dorovan is the father of Arrania, the protagonist of "A Time for Us"!_

_Speaking of which—yes, I am intertwining these two stories. However, in order to do that, I have had to screw with ATfU's timeline. Arrania is now two, almost three years younger than Edmund, rather than just one. And Lucy is now older than she, not the other way around. So there will be discrepancies in the ages, but that's it. As for which story has the REAL times and dates in it…just go with the timeline you like better. I don't care which one._

_Okay, A/N is now long enough! Bye!_


	8. Chapter Eight

_A/N: Well, here's chapter 8, three days late. :P Sorry, guys!_

--

It was deeply evening, several hours after midnight, and all of Dorovan Hall was finally asleep. Enna, Aramir, Lucy, and Edmund were all tucked away under thick goosedown blankets, enjoying their first real beds in months; the manor house was dark and the only sounds came from sneaky little mice pattering around on the flagstones in the tidy kitchen.

Outside, the inky black sky turned low and brooding, and the stars became dim or hidden completely. A stiff breeze picked up, rustling the blossoming trees and tossing their branches against the thinly paned windows of the home, and in the stables nearby, a horse or two opened an eye and snorted once at the stirring weather.

A snap of lightning arced across the Stygian horizon, striking a point far away on the green hills. Scarcely a moment later, a low roll of thunder grumbled from over the mountains; the wind wailed once more and then the rain began.

Enna awoke just as another flash of lightning lit up the walls of her cozy little room. She blinked sleepily at the streaks of water barely visible on the window across from her bed, rubbing at her eyes and rolling over to cover her head with her pillow. But just as she began to drift off to sleep again, a crash of thunder rattled the panes of glass in the windows, vibrating deep in her chest and startling her into wakefulness.

"My, my, must you be so loud?" she grumbled, sitting up and running a hand through her thick and tangled hair. "It's as though you wish me to wake."

Another flash of lightning winked at her.

Now almost fully alert, Enna slipped from under her covers, the floorboards smooth under her feet, and tiptoed to the window, the pattering of the rain growing louder as she pressed her nose to one of the windows. She could see nothing but darkness outside, could only feel the tremors of another thunderclap under her fingers.

_"The rainy season is mere days away. If there are, indeed, such pressing matters as you say, then I advise you, with all earnestness, to leave at once upon the dawn tomorrow…"_

Enna heard old Lord Dorovan's dire words in her head, and she bit her lip. Could this be the beginning of that so-called time of year? He had said it was days away—not hours. But weather, especially seasons, was difficult to predict. Perhaps it was just a spring storm, a mere rain shower, a simple precursor of the wetter weeks to come.

She unlatched the tall windows and pushed them open. A cold, wet wind blew into the room as lightning flashed across the sky—the veiny shape was etched onto her eyelids—and thunder roared, shaking the earth.

"You're growing a bit violent, aren't you?" Enna murmured pensively, gazing out at the dark landscape and listening to the harsh lashing of the rain against the stone and plaster walls. She reached for her dressing gown and wrapped it tightly over her nightdress, breathing in the watery-smelling air.

"Enna?"

Enna whirled around just as lightning blazed behind her—Edmund stood in the doorway, his tunic irradiated by the sudden brightness in such a way that Enna caught her breath in surprise, momentarily shocked by his sudden arrival. "Edmund!"

Thunder crashed outside as Edmund crossed the room in three long strides, drawing the windows closed with a snap. "You must be terrified! We don't have storms like this in Narnia."

Enna was, indeed, more than a bit unnerved, though not by the storm. "No, Edmund, really, I'm not frightened at all. What _did_ give me a start, though, was your rather dramatic entrance!"

She heard his footsteps cross the floor in front of her, and a moment later, a candle flickered into life. He stood from his crouched position by the smoldering embers of the fireplace, holding the taper in one hand, casting the orange glow in a wide circle about him. "It is gallant of you to insist otherwise, Enna, but there's no need to try and awe me. I know it is a good bit of a shock to bear witness to an Archenlandian storm—especially as we are not in a castle like Cair Paravel."

Enna shook her head in amusement. She was from Galma, for goodness' sake—the stormiest island in the world! "Well, I thank you for your consideration."

"Think nothing of it," he replied, reaching out and touching her arm.

She went to the window and opened it again, letting the wet wind swirl in and tousle her sleep-matted curls. "It was very kind of you to wake and come all the way here, just to make sure I was at ease."

"Well, I know Lucy used to be afraid of thunderstorms," he replied, coming to stand by her side, the candle sputtering. "She isn't anymore, but I am so used to waking up to comfort _her_, I suppose I quite didn't know what to do with myself."

His words were accompanied by a low, affable chuckle, one that reminded Enna so strongly and suddenly of Peter that she blinked. Nary a month and a half ago, upon her marriage to the high king, Edmund had handled her courteously in all respects, but it was clear to Enna—though perhaps not so much to Peter—that the dark-haired young king did not approve of the union. Enna had surrendered herself to quiet deference, for that seemed to be the simplest way to deal with him, but now here he was, standing next to her in his dressing gown, hair askew, laughing! She wasn't altogether sure as to how to treat this remarkable evolution—but, at last, he was treating her as a brother-in-law should.

"Do you suppose this is the beginning of the rainy season, then?" Enna asked at length, running her hand along the damp windowsill.

Edmund sighed, somber again. "I fear it is so. This storm hasn't let up in the half-hour I've been awake—'tis no spring shower."

Enna echoed his sigh—they were within sight, metaphorically, of Anvard, of successful diplomacy, of victory over the Galmanian hordes, waving their white flags with the crimson sun blazing over every head. What would happen while they were slogging their way inch by inch towards Anvard? What if Sabsestrin—_curse him_—reached it before they could?

As if reading her thoughts, Edmund set the candle down on the sill and wrapped his long arms around her. The contact evoked the brief but unsettling memory of Peter's arm heavy across her waist that one night, but she reminded herself—_he is only fulfilling his responsibility to his brother's wife_—that it was nothing like Peter. After all, they smelled different, they looked different, and Enna was much closer to Edmund's height than Peter's. (It was a strange, discomfiting sensation, however, of being clothed in nothing but a nightdress and held in another man's arms.)

"There is no need to worry, Enna," came his voice. "We cannot have come this far only to fail."

Those were empty words, indeed (Enna could think of a dozen other instances in which people had gone so far only to fail) but she nodded against his cheek. "Aye. And you know Peter would never let us give up."

"…No, he would not."

"He would be very grateful if he knew how obligingly you are fulfilling your fraternal duty," she went on. _Edmund does deserve commendation for it._

Edmund dropped his arms from around her and stepped away, turning aside to gaze out of the window. "…Aye. _Fraternal duty_."

Over the wail of the wind, then, Enna heard the creak of floorboards. "Lucy's awake, I'll warrant," she said.

"I'll bet it was the storm."

_"I'll_ bet it was the noise of our conversation."

Edmund wrinkled his nose. "I propose that we ask her ourselves."

"What—just go over there?"

"Well, aye. We have to tell her the rainy season is come, sooner or later."

"But at night…?"

"We are all awake, are we not?"

"What about Aramir?"

"Oh, I'll wake him, then, since you're so persistent."

Edmund was already to the door as he spoke, and he turned the handle. Enna sighed—it appeared that she had no choice. So while Edmund rapped softly at Aramir's door across the hall, she tiptoed to Lucy's door and let herself in when the hushed greeting came from inside.

Lucy, her long brown hair uncombed and streaming down her back, was sitting demurely at the edge of the cushy bed, a thick taper blazing on the wall next to her and a sheaf of parchment in her hand. "Why, good morning, Enna," she said in a whisper. "I was just about to write a letter to Peter, telling him of all our most recent adventures."

"At this o'clock?" Enna replied in astonishment, joining the young queen on the bed.

"The storm woke me, and then I heard you and Edmund talking next door, so I thought, 'Well, why not?'"

"That seems as good a logic as any."

"Mmhm. But why did you come to my door? Have you come to complain about grouchy old King Ed?" Lucy licked the tip of her pencil before tapping it teasingly on the corner of her paper.

Enna smiled. "Hardly. He wishes to have a conference, though—seeing as we're all awake."

"A conference? At this o'clock? I can see writing a letter, but an official meeting?" She wrinkled her nose in the exact way Edmund had a few minutes earlier and set her pencil down. "It must be important for Ed to call us together now."

There came a rap at the door, and Lucy drew her robes together over her nightgown before saying softly, "Come in."

Enna adjusted her own gowns as Edmund came into the room, a very bleary-eyed Aramir in tow. "Good morrow, Lucy."

"And to you, Ed," Lucy chirruped, sitting up poker straight when she saw Aramir.

Aramir didn't seem to notice at all—he was busy yawning. In the candlelight, he looked a dozen years younger than he actually was, freckle-faced and tousle-haired.

"Here we are, then," Edmund said. "Aramir, my friend, find a chair. We have business to attend to."

Aramir sat slowly on a low footstool, rubbing at his face. "'Tis so early, Your Majesties."

"Aye," said Lucy. "'Tis a parliament of nightcaps."

Enna stifled a giggle.

"Right," Edmund replied. "So—to business. Aramir, Lucy, we have come to Archenland but a few days too late. The rainy season is now upon us."

Lucy blinked and Aramir sat up. "What?" the young queen asked incredulously. "But—but, how can that be? Lord Dorovan said the rainy season would come in a few _days_, not a few hours."

"He said 'by my estimate'. He's not perfect, Lu."

"Does this mean, then, that…" Lucy furrowed her brow and put her hands on her cheeks. "Are we _trapped_ here until the season is over?"

"I wouldn't say _'trapped'_, per se," Edmund began slowly.

"The season is only a fortnight or so long," Aramir said. "It won't be too unbearable."

Lucy put her pencil down with a thump. "But we shall lose that fortnight, valuable time we need! What shall we do until then? Sit around and let our muscles soften?"

"I wouldn't be adverse to that," Enna teased.

Edmund reached over and patted Lucy's arm. "There, there, dear sister. We shall come up with something to bide our time with, I warrant. Even if we can't travel, we can send messenger birds in the minutes that it's not raining."

Lucy pouted. "I dislike this, Ed."

"I know you do, Lu, and I'm sorry. But it can't be helped."

"We could always use the time to form our plans of action," Enna said, trying to be helpful. "After all, we don't know exactly _what_ we're to say to King Lune when we get to Anvard. Or what we shall do after we convince him…or if he refuses."

Shuddering, Lucy shook her head. "Don't say such things, Enna—I don't wish to think on them."

"Nevertheless," Aramir said, "Enna speaks the truth. Perhaps we need this fortnight in order to be successful. I doubt the early onset of the rainy season could have happened without good reason."

Edmund grinned. "There. Think on _that_ instead, Lu."

Enna nodded knowingly at Aramir—Aslan was on the move again.


	9. Chapter Nine

_A/N: Hey, y'all, am I boring you? Or are you guys in the same boat as I am, too busy to review? :S (Thanks to the guys that still are, though—love you! :D)_

--

It was, indeed, the rainy season, as the companions soon discovered. Lord Dorovan apologized profusely to them over breakfast the next morning, wringing his bony hands together as he paced back and forth in front of a blazing fire. "I wish I could be of more assistance," he told them sorrowfully. "But I'm afraid I can do nothing but offer you hospitality and provisions for you and your men. Er—creatures. I mean—retinue."

"That is assistance enough, good sir," Aramir had replied kindly.

And so the four, with their band of loyal Narnians, were confined to Dorovan Hall. It was not an uncomfortable place, much airier and brighter than Cair Paravel in Enna's opinion, but as cold spring rain pattered almost continuously on the greening grass outside, turning all open dirt into thick, sloggy mud, venturing out-of-doors was out of the question. Edmund took to exploring the many passageways and cleverly hidden doors that the manor (built in such a way several centuries before so as to protect its inhabitants from raiding giants) boasted; Aramir could be found sitting on windowsills with Arondight across his knee, humming sea chanties; Lucy seemed content enough to spend her hours helping Lord Dorovan with paperwork; and Enna was resigned to the pesky bit of cloth flapping perpetually about her ears while she devoured Archenlandian books by the shelf-full.

But it was not all such mind-numbing boredom. Enna and Aramir both got the things that they had left in camp back safe and sound, which meant that Enna now had her precious bow and quiver—as well as Peter's wedding present, that heavy gold pendant. In addition, the Pevensies, free from such oppressive duties as managing households and running kingdoms, taught the two several games, resulting in many rainy hours wasted in peals of laughter and small objects lost under furniture.

It was during one especially rainy afternoon about a week after their arrival in Archenland that the comrades found themselves involved in a silly game that Lucy called 'hide-and-go-seek'. The game required that one person count to a certain number while the rest of the group ran to hide—a bit childish, yes, but Enna found it oddly engaging. On this particular occasion, Aramir had lost the previous round and so was obliged to take his turn as seeker.

"Oh, go on, Aramir, seeking is just as fun as hiding," Enna said.

"Aye, sure, you can say that when you're hiding," Aramir replied with good-natured gruffness and a wink.

Lucy tossed her hair impatiently. "Be a dear and count, Aramir—they'll be expecting us for supper soon."

"Very well. I'll count."

"To thirty, remember?"

"To thirty. But don't expect me to go slowly." He turned his face to the wall and closed his eyes before taking a quick peek. "One."

Enna, Lucy, and Edmund scurried from the room as quickly—and quietly!—as they could. Lucy immediately ducked behind a large chest in the corridor, making it painfully obvious that she very much wanted to be found, leaving Enna and Edmund to redouble their efforts.

"Fifteen…sixteen…"

Enna veered quickly into a small room. As they were in the attic, the rain was louder here than in the rest of the house; she used the noise to mask the thumping as she moved a large cupboard away from the door of a tiny little closet. Into this musty and slightly cobwebby space she wedged herself, leaving the door open a crack to let air and light in.

A moment later, she heard footsteps in the room, and she held her breath.

"Quickly, Enna, move over!"

"Edmund!" She let out her breath and made room for him. "Can't you find your own hiding spot?"

He shut the door behind him and jammed himself in next to her, his broad shoulders taking up much of the already minimal space. "It was too late for me to find a decent one—he's finished counting."

"Oh?"

"But he's going very slowly and meticulously—it should take him a few minutes to reach this room."

"That's good." Enna toed the door so it inched open slightly, letting in just enough dim light so she could see the side of Edmund's face as he looked at her.

"Aye."

A rather uncomfortable silence fell as the pair listened to the sounds of Aramir walking around in rooms down the hall, opening doors and checking behind boxes. The air in the closet grew close and hot, and the kerchief on Enna's head trapped the heat close to her body, making her tug at her collar and wish Aramir would find them quickly.

"Are you uncomfortable?" Edmund whispered, his mouth close to her ear.

"A bit," Enna admitted. "Your shoulder is digging into my arm…"

Edmund shifted slightly, and the pressure eased considerably as Enna relaxed. "Better?"

"Very much so. I thank you."

It was too dark to see his face, but he didn't respond, so Enna assumed that he had nodded. A moment passed, however, and then she felt a touch at her hand. She gasped in brief alarm, but Edmund shushed her as his hand closed over hers. "It's just me, Enna. There's no need to be frightened."

This hardly made Enna more comfortable. But she nodded and swallowed back her objections—_he is my brother-in-law. I must treat him with fondness, just as he is doing for me._

The rain intensified overhead, and the drops hammered on the roof over their heads with a harshness that drowned out the sound of Aramir's footsteps. Edmund's thumb brushed the back of Enna's sweaty hand.

"I must admit," he finally said, his voice low and still near her ear. "When you first…when you first came to Narnia, I was not all that impressed."

Enna turned her head quickly to face him. "I do beg your pardon—!"

"But I have come around," he replied hastily, putting his other hand over hers. "Really, Enna. I did not see it at first, but you are a swell girl."

"I'm glad you think so," Enna said dryly.

There was a touch at her cheek. "I do, Enna. I truly do."

"I suppose 'tis better than you thinking me an abysmal girl," she replied breezily, trying to inject a lighter tone into the conversation—it was taking a turn that made the hairs on the back of her neck start to prickle.

Edmund's touch lingered, and she heard him falter over some senseless syllables, apparently trying to reply. But it would appear that he quickly gave up that endeavor; a moment later, his lips had come crashing down on hers in a suffocating way. Enna nearly jumped out of her skin in dismay and pushed back on him, sending his shoulders slamming into the opposite wall. "Who do you think you _are_?" she exclaimed.

Edmund coughed and sat back up again. "There's something between us, Enna, don't try to deny it—I've felt it, I know you've felt it, too!"

She sputtered indignantly. "There is certainly _not_ anything between us! Besides—I'm _married_, Edmund. To your brother! Of all people!"

"We could make it work."

"Never! You turn my stomach, Edmund. What would Lucy say—what would _Peter_ say if they knew! I've had it—I'm leaving." She struggled to her feet, tugging at the skirt that Edmund had clutched in his hands.

"Don't say that," he wheedled.

"I just did," Enna retorted, and pushed open the closet door.

"_Aha_! I've found you!"

She jumped nearly a foot in the air. Aramir stood in the hall outside the door to the small room, grinning triumphantly. "You—what?"

"I've found you!" he replied, coming in. "Now you've got to count next. Where's King Edmund?"

"Right here," Edmund said darkly, clambering out of the closet.

Aramir looked between the two, and Enna brushed past him before he could make the connection and call her an adulterer. What was Edmund thinking? She felt nothing even remotely romantic towards him, had never before suspected he felt that way about _her_.

_Oh, Gale, I shall never be able to look anyone in the face again,_ she groaned silently.

"He hasn't found me yet, Enna!" Lucy whispered from behind her chest as Enna passed.

Enna pretended to not have heard her. If she could make herself go away, perhaps this whole dilemma would solve itself. If not, at least a few hours' peace would give her some time to formulate a plan to get herself out of this new mess.

Somehow, she had a feeling it would be more difficult than it appeared.


	10. Chapter Ten

_A/N1: Okay, let's try this again, shall we? Boy, do I feel dumb. Sorry about that!_

_A/N2: Yes, I live! :O I know, right? Well, I'm very sorry about the delay, as well as the brevity of this chapter—softball season has officially begun! Besides this, I've had two papers due, several tests, an emergency accompanist job (the choir at my school lost their regular accompanist to a light cold 5 days before their concert, and the director asked me to learn a few pieces, so all of my spare time was dedicated to learning the songs), an almost literal part-time job (I taught middle school history for two days flat), and I had the SAT and ACT, and all this within the last three weeks (the ACT was last weekend). But now it's Easter break, the tests are over, the concert went well, the middle schoolers loved me, and we won our softball game today. :D So—back to business, at least for a while! (I'm on prom committee, and that's in a few weeks, as is my AP exam, etc., etc.) So enjoy it while you can! :P_

--

The rain pattered on the eaves over the open window, dripping down onto Enna's head with a cold sternness. She ignored the sensation, leaning against the sill with her hands cupped in front of her, catching the icy drops in her palms; the sleeves of her gown were damp as droplets dribbled down her wrists and thus down her arms; her elbows were resting in a deep puddle of slightly dirty water, but she didn't notice or care.

There came another rap at her door, more insistent than the one that had come before it—she paid it hardly more attention that she had earlier. "Enna, I know you're in there and ignoring me, and I'll tell you right now, I'll knock down this door if you inconvenience me a moment longer."

"I won't come out, Aramir," Enna retorted as the rainstorm intensified for a moment.

"You can't bloody well stay in there all day."

"I shall if I want to!"

"You _don't_ want to. Stop being such a muttonhead, Enna."

"I needn't listen to you!"

"You ought to, though."

"I'm a grown woman, Aramir, and I have no need for you to be treating me as though I'm a child!"

"If you would act your age, perhaps I might stop."

Enna snarled to herself and clenched her fists. "Leave me be, Aramir."

"I won't. And if you don't open this door, _I_ will."

"You wouldn't dare."

But just as she finished speaking, she saw the rusty old latch begin to jiggle back and forth in its slot, and before she knew it, it had slipped out and Aramir opened the door, the disapproving look on his freckled face almost comical. "How dare you!" she sputtered, despite the faint sensation of gratification.

"You're acting as though you are a guttersnipe," Aramir replied bluntly. "And we both know you're not."

"You have some nerve," Enna retorted, drawing her hands in from the rain and shaking them pointedly, splattering cold water all over the room.

Aramir sighed and closed the door behind him. "You're never vexed without reason—what is it this time?"

Enna crossed her arms and stuck her chin out defiantly, glaring at the doe-eyed boy with as much displeasure as she could manage. "'This time'? Well, perhaps it might have to do with being _intruded upon_ quite violently!"

"That was hardly violent," Aramir chuckled. "Your lock is simply a bad one. Am I to blame for that? Come now, Enna—tell me what's ruffling your feathers so. The sooner you tell me the sooner I will let you be, and the sooner I can go down to supper."

Enna turned her back on him, her indignation quickly losing to the pleasure of knowing that someone was willing to go to all this trouble just to learn what was galling her. But—"I can't tell you," she muttered. "It's hardly the type of thing I ought to share."

There was a brief silence. "I see," said Aramir. "Is it something you might…need my assistance with?"

"Perhaps," she admitted.

"Then you must tell me what it is."

"I can't," Enna replied, turning back to face him, her cheeks blazing with shame as she thought on it. "If I told you, you'd call me an adultr—you'd think ill of me."

Aramir's freckled brow furrowed in concern. "What's going on? I'm beginning to believe this is hardly a case of hurt feelings."

Enna rubbed absently at her wet elbows and paced back to the window, the cool breeze damp against her cheeks. "If I told you…would you promise not to think ill of me?"

He paused. "It would depend upon what it is you've done."

"That's just it!" Enna cried, whirling about to face him. _"I_ haven't done anything! Oh, don't look at me like that—it's true, this time."

"Well, are you going to tell me? Or do you prefer I wallow in my own burning curiosity, jumping to misguided conclusions?"

Enna tugged the fluttering kerchief from her head, scattering a pin to the ground and leaving her hair in disarray, and unthinkingly used it to mop up the puddle of water on the windowsill. "I doubt your theories could be much off-base."

"Enna…!"

"Aramir…!"

He crossed his arms persistently. "You are hardly improving the impression I have of you, with these tomfool games of yours."

Enna sagged against the sill and put her face in her hands, feeling the burning flesh of her cheeks beneath her palms. "Edmund…he kissed me. _Tried to_—I mean. Just now, while we were waiting for you to seek us. He insists that—oh, how did he say it—there is 'something between us.' I am quite at a loss, Aramir, for I want nothing of this!"

She chanced a glance over her shoulder at him—his headstrong pose had melted somewhat into almost a self-embrace, and he had a brooding look on his face.

"Really," Enna ventured, feeling smaller and smaller by the second. "I would like…I would like to be faithful to Peter." _It's the least I can do._

At last, Aramir spoke: "It seems to me that this dilemma is yours to solve."

A rush of hot blood pounded in Enna's head, making the tips of her ears burn. "I…" She scuffed the toe of her slightly motheaten slipper along the wood floor. "I can't do it by myself."

"Are you requesting my help, then?"

Enna did not look up from the ground, afraid that he would see her chagrined flush. "…Aye."

"Then I'll give it to you. All you needed to do was ask."

"Really?" Enna asked, then quickly cleared her throat and added, "I mean, thank you."

Aramir nodded and dropped his arms to his sides. "Did you tell his highness what you told me?"

"In similar words, aye," Enna replied.

"There's not much you can do besides give him a wide berth for the time being, then. Perhaps he will calm down and come to regret his actions."

This did not seem to Enna the answer to her problem, but she nodded. "Aye."

"And don't let him cow or connive you into anything you don't wish to do. I realize that I hardly need to remind you of this, but…"

Enna grinned quietly and drew her windows shut, latching them securely against the intensifying winds.

"If you like, I may speak with him, man to man."

"I don't think that'll be necessary," Enna assured him. "I just…you're sure you believe me?"

Aramir blinked at her and gave a disbelieving snort. "Believe you? I'd be out of my mind not to. You have your shortcomings, but you are no liar."

"I thank you for that," Enna said dryly.

"There." Aramir grinned. "Pretend it never happened, and I promise you you'll have forgotten it by tomorrow."

"Thank you, Aramir," Enna replied. "But I doubt Edmund will have."


	11. Chapter Eleven

_A/N: Ugh, sorry about the mishap last chapter, guys. And sorry this one's so late again—I woke up with a head cold the day after I posted chapter 10, and I've been working on this one as much as I can, but with a headache and doped up on Benadryl, there's not much I can do. :P_

_BTW—HAPPY EASTER! May Christ bless you and yours this day and every day! :D_

--

The next day, the rains lessened, subsided, and finally stopped. Lord Dorovan, his wrinkled hands tapping on the polished breakfast table, told the group that the rainy season, while by no means over, seemed to be drawing to a close, and that they ought to take the opportunity to stretch their legs, exercise their horses, and get a feel for the Archenlandian topography.

"I hadn't thought of that," Lucy said, clapping her hands. "Oh, Ed, let's!"

"If our friends Aramir and Enna don't mind," Edmund replied. "I _had_ wanted to take a look at our surroundings…"

Enna tapped her fingers on her knee under the table—if she didn't mind! She would go mad if she were trapped inside the manor house a moment longer. The idea of the sun, the sky, the hills (albeit the mud, too), stirred the dormant wanderlust in her heart.

"Excellent idea, sire," said Lord Dorovan.

"We'll do that, then," said Edmund with finality, folding his napkin and setting it beside his plate. "Would you provide us with enough provisions to last us until supper?"

Lord Dorovan nodded, his white beard bobbing. "It would be my privilege, my honored friends."

And so, an hour later, the four were dressed in their neatly-mended Narnian clothes, sacks of fine cheese and many soft biscuits swaying from their shoulders as they mounted the horses in Lord Dorovan's courtyard. The sky above their heads was a dusky blue, heavy with clouds, but the breeze that ruffled the blossoming trees was warm, and Enna happily followed her three companions onto the muddy pathway leading from the manor.

"We have hours," Edmund announced at last. "What is it we wish to do?"

"I like just riding like this," said Lucy with a happy sigh, tossing her hair.

"We can't just ride, Lu. I want to trace out a few hours' worth of our journey farther south, you know, get to know the terrain."

"Well, why did you ask us, then?" Lucy asked with nettled sniff. "You're going to make us anyway."

Enna turned around to look at the manor house: it was a small blotch on the horizon, and was in danger of being swallowed up completely by the rolling hills surrounding it. "Whatever we do, we had better be sure we don't get lost."

"We won't get lost," Lucy assured her.

"Over there!" said Edmund, pointing. "I think I see chimney smoke. Could that be a town?"

"Lord Dorovan didn't mention anything about nearby villages, Ed."

"That does not mean there isn't one. I'd like to investigate, but we needn't have everyone come along—Enna, would you come with me? Lucy and Aramir might wait here, or go off on their own."

Enna, caught off-guard, stammered, "Well, I—I suppose—"

"I'll go along, too," Aramir said quickly, giving her a pointed look.

"Well, _I_ don't want to be left alone," Lucy pouted. "I want to come along, too!"

Edmund sighed slightly. "It doesn't matter. I didn't really want to go, anyway—now, we can just skip it entirely."

"Skip it!" Enna scoffed. "You can stay here, then—I want to go."

"You can't go by yourself, Enna," Edmund replied. "What if it should be a robbers' den?"

"I'll go with her, then," said Aramir lightly. "Your Majesties then may do whatever you please, and Enna will be safe."

Edmund opened his mouth to refuse, but Lucy shook her head. "Oh, Ed, just let them. I want to take a leisurely ride with my brother, and what better time to do it than now?"

"Very well," Edmund said with a sigh. "We will meet you back here for luncheon, then?"

"Aye," said Enna, relieved. "Luncheon."

Aramir bowed his head to the two monarchs and urged his horse down the slope towards the distant cluster of huts. Enna avoided Edmund's gaze and followed, clinging with her legs to the saddle as her mare slipped and slid down after Aramir's—he was so good to her. She felt wicked for thinking it, but being away from Edmund freed the air and lifted a load from her shoulders.

As soon as the ground was level, Enna spurred her horse to catch up with Aramir's. "I appreciate that," she said, adjusting the reins.

"I told you I'd help as best I can," Aramir replied. "Did you think I'd make you go with His Majesty alone?"

"Well, not necessarily. I just…didn't know you'd…do that."

Their horses' hooves thudded onto a dirt path, so hard-packed it was scarcely muddy. "After all these months, you still don't believe I'm a trustworthy man?"

Enna flushed. "It's not that, Aramir."

"I know what you mean, Enna," he replied with a teasing smile. "Now—what do you suppose is the name of this town?"

Shading her eyes, Enna gazed out at the unfolding prospect before them: a group of thatch-roofed huts with fenced-in livestock yards and a muddy pathway stretching between them. A swollen stream ran close to the huts, rushing so loudly and quickly that Enna and Aramir could hear it from where they stood.

"I can't even begin to guess," she said. "I suppose it has some sort of foreign Archenlandian name."

The horses passed on into the outskirts of the village. A small, freckle-faced child with a hand on the bridle of a small, dirty pony, the boy's face almost as muddy as that of the horse, grinned at them as they went by, and Aramir responded with an amiable wave, drawing his horse in to a halt. "Tell me, boy, what's the name of this town?"

"Ilvernarran, sir," said the boy.

"Ilvernarran…?"

Enna looked at Aramir. "Do you recognize it?"

His freckled brow was furrowed in a pensive manner, but he shook his head. "No. No—tell me, who lives here?"

The boy stuck his finger into his ear and scratched it, his face screwed up in an amusing expression, and said in his thick Archenlandian accent, "Why, m'lord, my grandmammas, my grandpapas, my mama, my papa, my sisters and their men, my brother and his lass, my uncles and my aunts, and my cousins, and my friend Aggie's family, and the old captain, and then the Manor's old seneschal."

"I see," said Aramir. "And what does your family do?"

"We work for the Manor," said the boy. "My papa and mama and sisters and brother farm for the lord."

Aramir nodded. "Thank you. And your name is…?"

"Hamish, sire. Hamish Hammons, son of Thengar, second son of Idris, son of Jovis, son of Jovium." He tugged his forelock and slapped the pony's thick neck.

"'Tis a pleasure to meet you, Hamish," Enna said. "I am Enna, first daughter of Vatorian, son of Ivarian, son of Kilkian, son of Lamian."

"And I am Aramir," said Aramir, "only son of Aranash, son of Ramshin, son of Kuroushid, son of Siyavash."

"You're _Calormene_?" Hamish said, his eyes wide. "Do you truly take the flesh off people's heads and eat it for breakfast?"

"Only part Calormene," Aramir countered. "And no. But thank you for your help, Harmon, we'll bother you no longer."

"Any time, m'lord n' lady."

Aramir waved and kicked his horse into a walk; Enna followed abreast of him, looking curiously at the approaching village. "He was very friendly, wasn't he?" she asked.

"Aye, and very young. Too young to think Calormenes are really all that horrid."

Enna glanced over at Aramir in time to see the black look on his face. "Oh, really, Aramir, don't let it bother you so. You'll frighten the locals with that glower of yours."

As they rode into the main village, a woman who was bent low over a bucket of sudsy water in front of a hut looked up, her long, grey hair hanging like a dead bird in her face. Her hands, curled with rheumatism, were also shriveled with water, and she drew a fishing net up and down a washboard and watched them pass with dark, deep eyes. Enna returned the curious stare, wondering why the woman found them so interesting.

Just as they were about to round a bend in the path, the woman leapt up from her hunched position and ran after their horses, clutching her long skirts in one hand and panting for breath. "Wait! Wait!" she cried in a rough voice.

Aramir and Enna reined their horses in, looking in alarm at the woman. She threw herself at Aramir's horse, clinging to his leg with her claw-like hands, her dark eyes wan as she rasped for breath. "You…"

The two riders looked at each other with unease.

"How may I help you, my good lady?" Aramir said kindly, touching her wrinkled hand with his.

The woman began to regain her breath, but she still clung to Aramir's leg. "Tell me, youngling—who are you? What is your parentage?"

Aramir glanced at Enna once before replying, "I am of a Calormene sire and an Archenlandian dam."

"And your father's name?"

"The late Aranash Minodaurus, once Tarkhaan of Ishfahan, Calormen."

"And your mother?"

"The late Falina, a lass of Archenland. I never knew her maiden name…"

The woman's eyes fluttered closed, and she clasped her hands to her heart, mouthing words to the sky. "Ah…I had a feeling you would return…"

Aramir glanced again at Enna. "Erm…pardon me, good lady, but…who?"

She opened her dark eyes again. "You have grown to be just like your father…but oh, great Gale, you have your mother's freckles…Thengar! You must come here! Haste! Haste!"

Before Enna or Aramir had a moment to protest, a man came out of the hut that the woman had come from. "This had best be important, Glenna, I'm in the midst of something…"

"Come, come, Thengar," the woman (Glenna) urged. She caught Thengar's hand and pulled him to Aramir's horse, and Enna saw milky blue eyes and a red-tipped nose. "Look at him."

Thengar stared up at Aramir.

"Do you see it?" Glenna whispered.

Nodding, Thengar looked back at Glenna. "Is he…?"

"Aye—he's Falina's boy!"

Aramir's horse snorted and dragged a hoof across the wet dirt; he reined it back in and stared down at the couple. "You know my mother?"

"Know her?" Glenna gave a hoarse laugh. "Know her—she was my sister!"

"Your…"

Enna looked between Aramir and the woman—aunt and nephew? It could hardly be! Aramir had told her he knew of no living family members, Archenlandian or otherwise.

"I last saw you when you were a mere babe," Glenna sighed. "You were wrapped in a mantle, clutched in your mama's arms as she and your father, Aranash, set to ride east to board the boat to Galma…Falina was crying, begging Aranash to let them stay, but Aranash was persistent. Your brother Argo Savas was clinging to your father's legs, wailing for his lost pony. All the while, you were sleeping silently, little Aramir Ilhami…"

Enna saw Aramir's knuckles whiten as he calmly kept his horse in line. "My mother never mentioned you."

"And when did she die, love?" Glenna asked gently. "When you were barely six summers old. I doubt you would have remembered if she _had_ spoken about us."

Aramir looked at Enna, and she raised her eyebrows at him.

"Tell me, then, friends," she said to the couple in front of them. "How old is Aramir?"

Glenna looked at Thengar, her wrinkled brow furrowed. "Oh, Gale…'tis been so long…twenty years, I think. Aye—he is twenty. Nearly twenty-one, I would think, it was summer when he was born."

Twenty years! Enna looked at him—she had always considered him younger than she, just because it was easiest that way, but now…he had the straight shoulders of a man, the intense glint in his eye, the firm jaw. He _must_ be older than she.

"Do you have time?" he asked suddenly.

"Time?" Thengar repeated.

"Aye—I want to know everything."

Glenna's ancient face lit up in a smile, and she held her hands out to him. Enna blinked, and in that time, Aramir had dismounted and was crushing the old woman in his arms, and even Thengar was misty-eyed, patting Aramir's shoulder.

Enna smiled. She had lost her family…but Aramir had found his.


	12. Chapter Twelve

_A/N: Geez, that took long enough! Sorry for the delay—I play varsity softball, school stuff, excuses excuses blahblahblah. Hope this makes up for it! :D_

--

It took a long while for Aramir and his aunt and uncle to regain their composure. Glenna, her eyes streaming with tears, clasped Aramir's face in her wrinkled hands, saying, "You must come in, my darling—you and your friend. Come, stay—there is so much to be discussed!"

Aramir turned to Enna. "What do you say, Enna?"

Even if she hadn't wanted to stay, Enna couldn't—wouldn't—have denied Aramir this opportunity. "We have several hours until luncheon. I don't see why not."

His freckled face beaming, Aramir offered a hand to help her off of her horse, and Enna swung down, landing with a squish in the soft dirt. As soon as she was steady, Glenna rushed forward and caught Enna's hands in hers, saying, "Any friend of our nephew's is welcome in our home. Come, come, dears, and I shall put on a pot of tea…"

"You fret too much over our guests, Glenna," Thengar grunted, but Enna did not think the man minded much. She and Aramir followed Glenna into the small hut, and Thengar took their horses and hitched them to a nearby post.

The small, one-room shack was neat, though dark and slightly damp feeling. Rags and similar objects were stuffed into the roof and around the rafters over Enna's and Aramir's heads, evidently to soak up leaks; low cots, about three or four, lined the walls, and in the center of the entire room, Glenna knelt by a large, stone-circled fire pit, where a rusty old kettle rested over glowing embers.

"Tell me, dear aunt," Aramir said slowly, obviously savoring the words and ignoring their ramshackle surroundings, "what is your last name? I never knew my mother's…"

"Dunblanne," Glenna answered. "Your mother was Falina Dunblanne. I am Glenna Hammons, by marriage."

"It is very kind of you to offer us tea, madam Hammons," Enna put in.

"Think nothing of it, darling," Glenna answered, smiling broadly as she set water to boiling. "But tell me, what is your name? How did you come to know my nephew?"

"I am Enna Aldenthew," Enna answered. "I mean—Enna…Enna Pevensie, of Galma." She didn't dare look up at Aramir, too afraid he would notice her embarrassed flush. "Aramir and I were…shipmates."

"Aye," Aramir said, a hint of a grin in his voice, "'shipmates'."

Glenna reached over and touched one of Enna's escaped curls. "Galma, you say? Why, I was led to believe Galmanians were swarthier. You are fair-skinned, almost like an Archenlander."

"I am Galmanian, I assure you," Enna said with a slight chuckle. "I was born and raised on the coast. But did Aramir tell you?" she hastened to add, eager to divert the attention back to Aramir. "He is a knight. A knight of Narnia."

"A knight!" Glenna caught at her dirty dress with her wrinkled hands, her face aglow. "My nephew is a knight…! Oh, I never thought I would see the day my own blood would rise to such honor…"

Aramir looked uncomfortable, and he cleared his throat. "My dear aunt, Enna is much too modest. You stand in the presence of a queen of Narnia."

His words fell discordant on Enna's ears, and she cringed. "Hardly, Aramir—"

But before she could get her words out, Glenna fell to her knees before Enna, her wrinkled face strained and unhealthily flushed. "Your Majesty," she breathed. "You must grant your servant pardon. We are common folk, and have not been taught to properly recognize royalty—had we known, we would have—"

"Please, good lady," Enna said, stooping down and pulling Glenna back to her feet. "Please. I am queen by no virtue of my own—merely through marriage. I have no authority in the kingdom."

"She is the high king's lady," Aramir said.

_I am more than that!_ Enna straightened and sighed. "Aramir, I wish you wouldn't call me that. Good madam Hammons, I am Enna to you, not Majesty. You do not know my husband, this is not his kingdom, and therefore, you needn't make any fuss."

"You must have become queen by _some_ virtue, Lady Enna," Glenna replied, still wringing her hands.

Enna only shook her head. _If you knew, you would not call me virtuous…_

"Do I have any cousins, Aunt?" Aramir broke in.

Glenna turned away and began tending to the tea water, leaving Enna grateful for Aramir's intervention but now quite willing to leave. "Aye, dearest—six, by me and your uncle Thengar. They are all up and married now, but for young Hamish. He is barely twelve summers old, bless his soul…"

"Hamish," Enna said. "He's the boy we met along the road, Aramir! Just think—you two are related!"

Aramir said nothing, but his face glowed as he took a mug of tea from Glenna.

"Why, here comes Hamish now!" Glenna exclaimed, handing Enna a mug. "Hamish! Come here!"

The dirty-faced boy the two had met earlier came hopping through the doorway. "Aye, Mama?"

Glenna motioned him further into the hut and lowered herself to the dirt floor, wincing as her knees creaked. "Have you met master Aramir Minodaurus and Her Majesty of Narnia?"

It was Enna's turn to wince.

Hamish nodded. "Aye—but why are they here?"

"Master Aramir is your cousin," said Glenna excitedly. "He is the son of your aunt, my sister."

"Aunt Falina? Hamish asked tentatively. "I thought you said she died of the fever."

"She did, ducky. But she left two sons, and Aramir is one of them!"

"I can see the resemblance between the two," Enna put in, sipping her tea. "I believe it is the freckles."

"Ah, aye," Glenna sighed wistfully. "Falina was covered with them, as was our father…I had hoped she would pass them on to her children. But tell me, Aramir," she went on with renewed vigor, drawing Hamish against her knee and offering him tea. "How is Argo these days? He was quite the brash young boy…"

Aramir's face tensed up, and he silently sipped his tea, obviously casting about for something to say. "He is well," he said at last.

"He captained a merchant ship for a good while," Enna said.

"Oh?" said Glenna. "And when was this?"

"He got the captaincy before I had a beard," Aramir murmured. "He signed me on as a cabin boy."

"And now you are a knight of Narnia. What luck! Sir Aramir Minodaurus."

"Ealion," Aramir said.

"Come again?"

"Ealion." Aramir cleared his throat and set his mug down in the dirt. "I changed my last name when I became a Narnian."

Glenna tapped her wrinkled fingers on her knee. "I see. But…what, then, brings you back to Archenland?"

Aramir looked at Enna. "Well…well, there's a bit of a rebellion occurring, see…"

"Galma has mutinied against the crown of Narnia," Enna said. "Though I would call it less of a rebellion and more of an outright war."

"War?" Glenna breathed.

"It's nothing quite so bad," Aramir countered quickly.

Enna looked at him. "You've seen what my people have done to Narnia! They are bent on destruction."

"That may be true," he said warily, "but they have not waged war."

"They have invaded Archenland!" Enna cried. "I would call that war, as it is a blatant breach of the laws of alliance and neutrality!"

Glenna covered her mouth in alarm, and Aramir rubbed his forehead. "Do not fret, aunt. The Galmanians have not _invaded_, per se. They are just interested in reaching Anvard before we do, so they might influence King Lune to fight in their favor."

_"Aramir!_" Enna was shocked. After all they had witnessed, undergone, done to stop the Galmanians, he was sitting here, denying the fact that the Galmanians were treacherous!

"We have seen neither hide nor hair of the Galmanians since the battle of Talaverna," Aramir said. "I, for one, am not worried anymore."

Enna, who had felt the sting of the Galmanian sword, could bear it no longer, and she got to her feet. "If you will excuse me," she said toe Glenna and Hamish, "my other companions await me elsewhere. Thank you for your hospitality, and I hope we shall meet again."

"Enna," said Aramir in exasperation, but Enna ignored him and swept from the small hut.

Thengar looked up from where he was watering their horses, a bit puzzled looking. "Is something the matter, miss?"

"Hardly," Enna answered briskly. "Thank you for caring for my horse—I will take it, now."

Blinking, Thengar handed her the reins, and she swung up a bit clumsily. "Ride safely, young miss," he told her, "for it looks liable to rain again, and the mud slicks are awful chancy."

"I'll be fine," she replied. "Thank you again."

He tugged his forelock, and she urged her horse forward and out of Ilvernarran, keen on clearing her head before Aramir made her do something she wished she didn't. He was beginning to have that effect on her, unfortunately…


	13. Chapter Thirteen

_A/N: Hmm. This one's a bit shorter than I'd planned. :P Oh, well, I don't care today—I'm a National Merit Scholar! :D _

_Anyhoo, back to "Taming the Tides!"_

--

The rain started again not long after the four companions returned to Dorovan manor and the sun set. They shared supper with Lord Dorovan in what was stony silence on Edmund and Enna's parts, and returned to their chambers quickly to escape the friction heavy in the air.

Enna had not quite gotten ready for bed when she heard a hasty pounding at her door. "Who is it?" she called, wondering if something was amiss.

Whoever it was didn't wait to answer; rather, Lucy flung the door open and slammed it shut behind her, panting. "I'm sorry to barge in on you like this, Enna, but I simply _must_ talk to you!"

Enna, rather alarmed at Lucy's sudden appearance, nodded and lit another candle. "What's happened?"

Lucy flung herself to Enna's bed like a rag doll, clasping her hands to her face. "Oh, Enna—I have gone and done a very foolish thing!"

"It has been a mere half hour since sup. What can you possibly have done in that time?"

"Ohhh, something very bad," Lucy moaned, sitting up and rubbing her palms across her knees.

"What?"

"You will think so ill of me if I tell you…"

"Well, you came in here to talk to me, so I expect you to do so, or I shall be forced to send you back to bed."

Lucy glowered briefly at Enna. "I am a queen, and you shall _not_ send me to bed."

Enna hid a grin and feigned penitence. "Then tell me, my queen, what burdens your heart."

With a sigh that ruffled her hair, Lucy tucked her hands under her knees and said, "You'll think I'm some sort of…of…of scarlet woman if I tell you this, but—I must tell you before Aramir does."

"Tell me what?"

Lucy bit her lip, flicked a speck of lint off of her gown, and said in a high, strained voice, "I fear I may have kissed him."

This was the last thing Enna was expecting. The news was a vexatious and unpleasant jolt, and she blinked a few times before replying, "Well…you fear you _may_ have? Or did you most certainly?"

"Most certainly," Lucy squeaked.

"…I see."

"I quite lost my head, you see!" the wide-eyed young girl went on in protest. "He was just so good to me, I thought that perhaps, just maybe, it would turn out like…like the fairy tales Susan used to tell me."

This, admittedly, peaked Enna's interest. "Are you saying it didn't?"

Lucy nodded morosely.

"Why? Whatever could have happened?"

"I suppose I ought to have thought it out more clearly before I did such a foolish thing," Lucy said. "I may be as young and harebrained as Peter and Edmund always accuse, but I am sensible enough to discern that my fondness for Aramir is hardly more than a schoolgirl's infatuation." She sighed. "Nevertheless, I _had_ hoped…"

"Had hoped what?"

"That perhaps he would feel at least a _little_ what I did."

Enna gasped. "So he feels nothing?"

"Not a thing!" Lucy replied. "Shocking, I know! But he told me, and I quote, _'Your Majesty, you are a lovely lass, but you must realize, I think of you as my sister. If you will forgive the informality_.' Or something along those lines. He was very apologetic as he said it…and very red, too," she mused.

Enna shook her head in wonderment. "I once thought he might have been taken with you…but I suppose I was wrong. Well…what did you do afterwards?"

Blushing, Lucy muttered, "I sputtered some nonsense and then ran here."

Chuckling a little in response, Enna made sure her windows were locked before closing the shutters. "Do you…perhaps feel a little better now that you know?"

"Well…" Lucy furrowed her brow in thought. "I suppose I am a little disappointed. All right—very disappointed. But I know I shall get over it. These things happen, you know…and I never have to worry about _marrying_, ever. Peter and Edmund will change their minds about me wedding someone eventually, (or at least be _forced_ to change their minds by some diplomatic crisis), and then I shall have a wealth of handsome and heir-apparent princes to pick a husband from."

"You are lucky among women," Enna said sincerely, both awed at the young girl's forthrightness and slightly jealous of her freedom.

"Well," said Lucy with a teasing grin, "I think you may have plucked the brightest apple from the husband tree when you married Peter. I daresay there are many weeping maidens these days who are being forced to marry only slightly godlike and semi-powerful noblemen. We _both_ are lucky to have Aslan's blessing!"

_Trust me, young Lucy, it was not with Aslan's blessing that I married your brother._ Out loud, Enna only smiled.

"Well, perhaps I ought to go to bed," Lucy sighed. "Thank you for talking to me, Enna—I think I will sleep that much better. Now…would you be a dear and go make sure Aramir isn't in the hall? I think I want to plan what I'm going to say to him before I actually _do_."

Enna sighed. "Very well. But then you must not let your brother know what you've been up to, for I have a feeling he will want to come and speak to me about it."

"You two have been very unpleasant to be around lately," Lucy said as Enna went to the door.

"We have had our differences," Enna replied with intentional vagueness, and peeked out into the hallway.

"Enna—"

Enna started a little as Aramir seemingly appeared out of nowhere. "Aramir—! You gave me a bit of a start. What is it?"

He indeed looked very red, and he ran a hand through his dark hair. "Look. I wish to tell you something before you hear it from someone else."

Enna opened her mouth to say "Too late," but Aramir went right ahead.

"I am not trying to inveigle my way into the royal family," he said in a low whisper. "I swear it, on Aslan's mane. But Queen Lucy—she…she…expressed her affections in a very overt way, and—and, as I am fond of her, as a brother is fond of a sister, but not fond in _that_ way, I refused her as kindly as I could—don't get me wrong, she was polite, too—but I think a kitchen hand saw us and I don't wish you to think me some sort of knave. That is why I am telling you this."

He took a breath and watched her expectantly, obviously gauging her reaction.

Enna shook her head, a bit amused at the irony of it all while equally a bit moved at Aramir's desire for her to hear the truth. "Think nothing of it, Aramir," she replied. "I believe you."

"I—really?"

She nodded. "Don't worry. Go to bed, and I'm sure this'll all be cleared up on the morrow."

Aramir looked pleasantly surprised, and he said, "Oh. Aye, thank you, Enna. Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight."

Enna turned and went back in the room as Aramir's chamber door shut. "He's gone to bed, Lucy, it's safe for you to go."

"What did he say?" Lucy pressed as she went towards the door. "I heard you two talking—"

"It was nothing of importance," Enna assured her. "Goodnight, Lucy."

Lucy began to sputter in protest just as she'd gone out into the hall, but Enna shushed her and quietly shut the door. _What fascinating things can happen when four people are confined together for an extended period of time!_ she thought, and then went to bed.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

_A/N: Okay, an update—finally! I was going to put up this chapter sooner, but then I decided to add a few more pages on, and so it took a day or three longer than expected. Anyhoo, I've been really busy lately. I went on a college visit last weekend (Calvin College in Grand Rapids, Michigan—can I get a shout-out?), prom is on Friday (Schmo and Schmurf and my other friend Beverly are coming to stay at my house that night, PLUS I'm on the planning committee so you can only imagine the stress!), and softball is in full swing (I KNOW I use that excuse a lot, but it's valid—every night is dedicated to softball. On Saturday, my team will actually be playing on the Chicago Bandits' home field! :D And my coach has been working on getting me behind the plate—as catcher. O_o Scary, I know.) _

_ANYWAY! Enough blabber, here's the update!_

--

Over the course of the next few days, the rain began to come less and less frequently. There were periods of two or three hours in the middle of the day when the sun would make a half-hearted effort to break through the clouds, and the uncertain heads of brown-feathered pheasants would begin to appear over the waving grass of the surrounding meadows. Aramir would take these opportunities to ride down to Ilvernarran, and Lucy would disappear in the smoky kitchens to chat the cook's ear off, leaving Enna and Edmund to entertain themselves. This, more often than not, entailed Enna locking herself away in her chamber with one of Lord Dorovan's statecraft manuals (the only books she could find without seeming nosy or demanding) and Edmund jiggling the locks of every closed door he came across. (Once, Enna asked Lucy why he did that; she replied lightly, "Oh, Ed—he has this awful tendency to want things he can't have." This began to explain certain things for Enna.)

Everyone woke on the last day of May to the realization that the rain had stopped. Over breakfast, Lord Dorovan offered the four companions thick, creamy porridge and tangy berry juice, saying, "Congratulations, my dear guests—the rainy season has come to a welcome conclusion!"

"Really?" Lucy gasped, clapping excitedly. "Oh, Ed—this means we can leave for Anvard!"

"It's about time, too," Edmund replied. "It's been weeks. I'm beginning to worry about the state of things, truthfully—I'm very glad we'll be able to move on. Though you have been a most kind and hospitable host, Lord Dorovan."

"It has been my honor," the old man said with a deep nod that trailed his beard in his porridge. "I only wish Your Majesties had been able to meet my daughter—she is still on the mend."

"You will give her our sincerest apologies, won't you?" Lucy asked. "From what you have told me, she sounds delightful."

"Indeed I shall, Your Majesty," he replied, and began to say something else, but was interrupted by a footman who bent over to whisper suddenly in his ear. "…Oh. I see. Aye—dispatch a few men to check on the villagers. Thank you."

"What's wrong?" Lucy asked as the manservant went away.

Lord Dorovan put his napkin aside and drummed his gnarled fingers on the table, looking a bit unsettled. "Nothing to fret about, my queen. A farrier in the stables noticed a bit of smoke over the treeline, that's all."

"It must be a very violent fire, to burn in such conditions," Edmund noted.

"Aye, sire. I have thus sent men to make sure all is well." Lord Dorovan pushed his chair away from the table. "Would Your Majesties like to observe the sights? Now that the rain is gone, I feel comfortable offering you a tour of my terrace."

"Oh, that would be lovely!" Lucy said. "Come, Edmund, Enna, Aramir—let's go!"

Enna looked longingly at her unfinished porridge as Lucy tugged her away from the table in pursuit of Lord Dorovan. The old man walked quickly for someone his age, and before long, the lovely scent of hot oatmeal had faded away and the distinctive smells of smoke and wet dirt filled her nostrils. Through the door that Lord Dorovan had held open for them, they could see a thick pillar of black cloud rising up from somewhere south of the manor house.

"Hmm," said the lord, "the way Gelic spoke made it seem as though someone's hearth had caught afire, nothing more."

"It looks like an entire forest is ablaze, though," Lucy said, brushing past everyone to lean over the terrace railing. Aramir suddenly caught at her arm and dragged her back from the edge, his face pale as he saw just how high they stood.

"It is a lovely terrace, though," Lucy went on. She tapped her toes on the rain-slick floor and breathed deeply of the damp air.

Enna went to the railing, too, and shielded her eyes as she stared out at the column of smoke rising steadily into the sky. Aramir's hand clenched around her elbow, but she ignored him and continued to watch, wondering with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach…

"Ah, here come my men," Lord Dorovan said with a pleased smile. He pointed at the two horsemen that came galloping across the meadow from the blaze. "They bear news."

It did not take long for that news, borne by another footman racing up the stairs, to reach the assembly on the terrace. "My lords and ladies," he panted, red-faced, "news from the scouts."

"What is it?" Lord Dorovan asked.

The footman took a gulping breath. "It's Ilvernarran, my lord."

"Aye, aye, and what news?"

He shook his head, resting his hands on his knees. "She's burnt, my lord—every last stick and stone."

Lucy gasped, and Enna felt Aramir's hand tighten alarmingly around her elbow.

"And what of the laborers there?" Lord Dorovan pressed, knotting his fingers in his long beard.

"They with her." The footman sighed a few more breaths and straightened. "The fire caught early morning, the scouts believe, and caught the villagers…the villagers were unaware. There are a few survivors, aye, but they were all mostly still in their beds…"

A sick silence hung in the smoky, damp air above the band's heads. Aramir's hand threatened to cut off the circulation to Enna's fingers, but she didn't dare move away, afraid she might upset the delicate balance of gathered wits.

At last, Lord Dorovan slammed his hand onto the railing, which vibrated violently. "By all that is holy—! You must excuse me, my lords and ladies. I feel compelled to ride to poor Ilverarran."

"I'll go with," Aramir said loudly. He finally released his grip on Enna's arm, but as soon as his hand had left her elbow, she wished it back—his face was dark and terrible, and the mere sight of that wretched look made her want to turn away.

"There is no need for that, young sir," Lord Dorovan said kindly, patting Aramir's white-knuckled hand. "You must ready yourself to leave with your companions."

Aramir didn't blink an eyelash. "I am afraid I must insist, my lord."

Lord Dorovan looked at Edmund and Lucy, eyebrows raised, but at last nodded. "Aye. If you feel you must, you must."

"Thank you."

"I'll go along," Edmund said at last as Lucy jabbed her elbow into his ribs. "…I'm sure you could always use a strong back."

Without another word, the three men went back into the house and down stairs, leaving Enna and Lucy to stare out at the black pilaster of smoke and smell the acrid air.

"How do you suppose the fire began?" Lucy mused, leaning out over the railing again. "It is so wet…"

"I haven't the slightest," Enna replied.

--

It was many hours past lunch when, at last, the horses and riders returned to the manor house. Enna, perched on the side of her bed with the windows propped wide open and a book in her lap, did not hear the hooves on the cobbles in the courtyard until Lucy came bursting in, flushed with delight.

"They've returned, Enna—let's go hear the cause of the fire and then we may set out for Anvard!"

Enna set her book aside and made to follow Lucy as the younger girl skipped from the room, but a moment later, she heard a surprised gasp.

"Oh—Aramir—I didn't hear you come up…Why, whatever is the matter?"

There was no answer, but a split second later, a very dirty and woeful-faced Aramir came into her room, his shoulders bowed and head lowered as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Are you hurt?" Enna asked.

He shook his head, refusing to make eye contact.

"Then what's wrong?"

Lucy stood on her tiptoes in the doorway, looking curiously at Aramir, but Enna silently shooed her away.

Aramir sighed heavily and looked at the ceiling, wrinkling his nose in a peculiar manner. "My aunt and uncle and cousins—" He cleared his throat. "—they, er…well, I…"

"They're what, Aramir?" Enna broke in a bit impatiently, growing annoyed with his odd secretiveness.

He finally looked at her with dirt-streaked eyes, and said flatly, "They're dead."

The words hit her like a slap, and she blinked in astonishment, staggered by the news. "They're…all? Thengar? Glenna? Hamish?"

Aramir nodded. "And my other cousins. You didn't meet them when I did…"

A wave of remorse rose up inside Enna, and she covered her mouth. "Oh, Aramir…"

He took a bracing breath and said, "We discovered who did it, at least. And by it, I mean lit the fire that burned the town."

"Someone burnt it purposefully?" Enna gasped. "Who could possibly…?"

In answer, Aramir pulled from his pocket a bit of wrinkled cloth, which he handed to Enna. She, looking in bewilderment at him, unfolded it, and saw to her horror that crimson sun scrawled across the dirty whiteness. It was Galma's ensign, the flag that they flew proudly over each frigate and battlefield.

Sudden tears blurred her vision—she knew, and of course Aramir knew, that her kinsmen were the reason he no longer had a family. How dare they! "Aramir, I'm so sorry," she whispered, looking up at him.

Aramir didn't answer. Instead, he said heavily on the creaky floor next to her bed and rested his dirty head against her knee; Enna dashed away the tears that threatened to spill down her own cheeks and put her arms around him. "I'm really sorry, Aramir, I really am," she said fiercely.

His shoulders gave an odd little convulsion and he turned his freckled face against her leg, his dark eyes squeezed tightly shut as he clung to her like a lost child. Enna felt the deep, shuddering breaths he was taking and wondered briefly, had she ever seen a man cry?

She didn't ask him if he was, though—only lightly patted his shoulder in a rhythmic manner, casting about desperately for something to say to ease his grief. But it took the sound of only one watery sigh to twist the knife in her own gut; closing her eyes, she rested her cheek on his hair and rocked him like a child, all the while thinking how sweet it would be when she saw her uncle harpooned on a Narnian spear like the dog he was.


	15. Chapter Fifteen, Filler

_A/N and WARNING: I really wanted to update this weekend, but I need to transition somehow and this is the only way I could think to do it. Please bear with the brevity—a REAL update should hopefully be coming later this week. Although (and I KNOW you're all sick of excuses), I have The APUSH Test this Friday and softball and blahblahblah. I'll do my best, and that's all I can promise. :P_

--

The four companions, quiet and subdued in respect for the slain villagers, departed Dorovan Hall very early the next morning, dressed once again in their rather worn Narnian garb. Their horses followed in the deep, muddy footprints that the piratical Galmanian army had left behind, and the acrid smell of smoke followed them wherever they went, no matter how far away from Ilvernarran they rode.

At last, after a few hours of silence, Edmund sighed and said, "Methinks we ought to pick up the pace."

Enna shielded her eyes, looking across the green meadows to the misty southern hills, where lay Anvard nestled somewhere in the crux of the two highest peaks. "Do you think Galma has gotten there already?"

"I hope not."

She glanced at Aramir, who was squinting against the sun with a staunch look. "Aramir…"

"What is it?"

"How do you feel?"

He shifted slightly atop his saddle. "Blooming."

Chastened, Enna dropped her gaze and tightened her grip on her reins. The question was burning in her brain, but she didn't dare ask it—had Aramir, now understanding the Galmanians' brutality for all it really was, support the Narnians' efforts to stop them? Or was he still anti-bloodshed?

But before she could begin to guess as to the answer, Edmund kicked his horse into a canter, and she hurried to follow as they all spurred their horses across the meadows into southern Archenland.


	16. Chapter Sixteen, Not Filler!

_A/N: Okay, I put my butt in gear and churned out another (LONGER) chapter! Yay! :D_

--

Over the next several weeks, the four companions rode their horses and selves hard, spurred onward and southward by both concern over the days lost to rain and the ceaseless path of fiery destruction tracing its charred way to Anvard. On the evening of their fifth day away from Dorovan Hall, the four snuck past the loud and riotous Galmanian camp, soft-footed Lucy in front, and rode long into the night to put as much distance between them and the enemy as possible. Such a close encounter, coupled with the personal loss on Aramir's part, served to remind them just how critical their mission really was: if they failed to reach Anvard before Galma…

Thus, it was with great emotion that, the first morning of the third week, after a very late night and an equally early awakening, the four crested a steep hill and gazed down upon a lush river valley, green and sprinkled with wildflowers on one side, and resting in the shadow of a vast, brightly-stoned citadel, teeming with the hustle and bustle of human life on the other.

"Is this Anvard, then?" Enna asked at last, breathless at the beauty of the place. Cair Paravel was striking in its own right, with high white walls and lofty turrets, but this place…it was simply exquisite. It seemed to _belong_ to the wooded hills it was built against, strong and simple and welcoming, its gates flung wide open for trade and foot traffic. A packet boat sat on their side of the rushing river, its coxswain strumming a mouth harp absently.

"This is Anvard," Lucy replied.

"It is so different from Cair."

"Aye. I _do_ love King Lune and his people, but I must say, I like Cair better…"

Edmund agreed with his sister, but as he led them down to the edge of the river, Enna couldn't help but think she preferred this new city better.

"Can I help you, masters and mistresses?" said the coxswain of the ferry as they approached.

"Aye," said Edmund. "What river is this?"

"The Archen River, sir."

"And how much is it to take us four and our horses across?"

"A half-geld per rider, a half-geld per horse, master," said the coxswain, sweeping his hat off in a low bow. (He was quite bald.)

"So it is four gelds?"

"Aye, master."

Edmund turned slightly in his saddle. "Have any of you got any gelds?"

Enna, as well as Lucy and Aramir, shook their heads slowly.

"I don't do charity," said the coxswain in a tone that was suddenly severe.

Enna flushed and ducked her head—if only he knew who he was speaking to…!

"We'll just swim it, then," said Edmund with a tight smile. "Come along, you three." He turned his horse away from the short dock and down the muddy bank of the river.

"You can't 'just swim it', you sod," the coxswain declared irritably. "She's five fathoms deep! You'll drown, and your horse with you."

Enna would have liked to knock that fat coxswain right off of his tiny ferry and into the river, but alas, the knave was protected by Aramir and his horse.

"Well, what would you have us do?" Edmund asked, his horse pawing at the water's edge. "We must see your king, and you are hindering us from doing so."

"I don't give passage to liars," the coxswain retorted.

"Do not stoop to the layman's level, mine royal brother," said Lucy suddenly, in a voice both sweet and regal. "It does not become thee."

Edmund breathed deeply and answered in a comparable tone, "Indeed, mine royal sister, thou art quite right. But, pray, how shall we ford this awesome river? O wife of our most sovereign brother, dost thou have a suggestion?"

Enna blinked and said hesitatingly, "Perhaps yon lusty yeoman might yield but a moment and extend the hand of friendship from his kingdom to ours."

"Perhaps," said Lucy.

The coxswain watched this exchange with wide eyes. "What…what kingdom did you say you're from? Your accents aren't Archenlandish…"

"The happy kingdom of Narnia," Lucy answered airily. "Thy king is our dearest ally, and in waylaying us from our meeting with him, thou, and thou only, jeopardize the safety of our two realms."

The coxswain blanched. "I—I apologize, milady…"

"Will you take us across, then?" Edmund asked.

"Of course, sire. We must wait for this scow, and then I will take you there, posthaste."

"Very well."

Beaming, Lucy led them aboard, and they dismounted to hold their mounts steady as the ferry rolled and pitched beneath their feet. Some distance away, nearly at the opposite bank, a long, flat barge piled high with bales of cotton and other packages was being pushed down the river by shirtless men and long poles. They sang heartily as they went against the current, heaving on the poles to drag the boat along, and the words reached Enna's ears as the flat boat drifted past:

_Well pull t'oars up_

_And push t'oars down_

_Sail down the deep Archen_

_To Avochton_

_And it's hard on the beech-oar_

_Pull her up again_

_'Way down to Avochton_

_On the deep Archen_

_It'll be hot in the summer, men_

_The air is thick and dank_

_That blasted fog's so heavy_

_That I canna see the bank_

_And it's hard on the beech-oar_

_Pull her up again_

_'Way down to Avochton_

_On the deep Archen_

_Now, the current's got her, men,_

_We'll take up some slack!_

_Float 'er down to Avochton_

_And then we'll bring 'er back._

_And it's hard on the beech-oar_

_Pull her up again_

_'Way down to Avochton_

_On the deep Archen_

_'Way down to Avochton_

_On the deep Archen_

"Where is Avochton?" Enna asked the coxswain. "And why are they going there?"

"'Tis a small town about two leagues downriver," he answered. "'Tis where all the shipping goes to be brought to the Sea."

"I see," Enna said.

The coxswain untied the ferry from the little dock and they began to move towards the opposite bank, swaying and creaking as the rushing Archen waters buffeted the thin walls of the ferry. Lucy and Edmund clung white-knuckled to the sides, but Enna and Aramir stood firmly beside the coxswain until, several minutes later, the little boat bumped against the opposite shore.

"Thank you for your kind service, good coxswain," said Lucy grandly, leading her horse quickly from the rolling ferry.

The man grumbled and, as soon as the other three had disembarked, turned his ferry around and began moving it away from the bank.

"Are all Archenlanders like this?" Enna ventured to ask.

"Hardly," Aramir said lightly.

Edmund cleared his throat. "Come, then. The royal palace is a good walk from the gates, and we must make all haste. Galma will certainly not send ambassadors of war—we shall not be able to tell them apart from the faultless."

"How right you are," Lucy chirruped.

Thus, they remounted and turned their horses' heads toward the high, bright walls of Anvard—wherein lay their only hope for success against the marauding Galmanians.

--

_A/N2: The little sea chantey thing above is based off of the American folk song "Shawneetown." Chris Vallillo does an excellent version of it, if any of y'all are interested. But probably not, haha!_


	17. Chapter Seventeen

_A/N: I love rain. And AP US History—I will be very sad when it is over, ON FRIDAY! :(_

--

Anvard was more different than Enna had initially realized, she found out as she followed the other three into the city. Not only was it larger, but it was an actual city within walls, not the kind of spread out settlements that Enna knew in Galma; nor was it an inhabited fortress, as Cair Paravel was. As she and her three companions rode slowly through the crowded, rocky streets, her senses were bombarded with all sorts of new sights and smells and sounds. There were so many _people_ here! Fishmongers shouted at each other, arguing over the freshness of their competitions' wares; small children chased thin little dogs to and fro; a few old women caught at Enna's skirts and offered her fine cloth at low prices; well-groomed servants in silk tunics handed gleaming gold gilds to traders and took their masters' new purchases upon their broad shoulders; a man by a bubbling reservoir drew a long, taut string across an oddly-shaped lyre that he had braced under his chin, and the warbling, merry music floated over the heads of the bustling crowds.

"'Tis beautiful, isn't it?"

Enna looked up and smiled at Aramir. "Aye—have you been here before?"

"Only once," he replied. "I was thirteen. But I haven't forgotten it since!"

Nor was he likely to, Enna thought as she watched the different subtleties of pleasure that played across his freckled face. "You are part Archenlander. Do you think you might return to live here someday?"

"You're Galmanian. Do you think you will return to live there?"

"Heavens, no," Enna replied. "'Tis beautiful there, but I could never bear it. Not when my family is gone."

"Then you understand why I feel the same about Archenland," Aramir answered lightly, brushing the hilt of his sword with his hand.

Enna looked up at the cloudless blue sky, the sun warm on her face. "But I am beginning to think Archenland fairer than Galma."

"As am I."

Gradually, the press of the crowds grew less, and their horses' hooves echoed on neat cobbled roads as they wound their way up low steps and around neat, glimmering wells of gurgling water. The entire city teemed with life, but it was an orderly, happy life, clean and benign, the city's inhabitants laughing and coexisting peacefully in the shadows of ancient and magnificent buildings, the bright green pennant of Archenland fluttering atop every belfry.

"Do you see the palace?" Lucy called back excitedly, pointing ahead.

Enna shielded her eyes—indeed, a tall turret of the same bright sanguine stone that made up the rest of the city rose high above them, and three pennants snapped atop its peak. A moment later, and four more towers revealed themselves, all bearing magnificent banners and gazing down upon the city. "Aye—is this where Lune lives?"

"Aye," answered Edmund. "King Lune and his son, Prince Corin. There is a winter palace somewhat south of here, but they do not stay there often. His Majesty uses it mainly as a hunting lodge."

The horses rounded a bend, and Enna smiled at the sight: a large courtyard, with a wide fountain sending water spouting into the air, in front of a low, arched wall, gateless, its brick vaults covered in ivy that was bursting out in white blossoms. Inside these doorways was a well-groomed lawn of bright green grass, boasting an elevated, neatly kept garden of rich flowers. Courtiers in fine clothes were luxuriating on silken blankets in the yellow sunshine, tossing little golden baubles to each other and chatting in gay voices.

"This is the royal palace," Lucy whispered to Enna. "Quite unorthodox, don't you think? That the Archenlanders would loll about on the ground like this—I'm tempted to consider it almost boorish."

"Hm," said Enna out loud. _I think it is delightful, as a matter of fact!_

"Welcome, friends!"

Enna looked up for the source of the voice. It was a tall, fat, red-cheeked man, with a thick golden beard and a wide golden paunch to match, who spoke in such a jolly manner; he was rising from a plush chair by the garden and striding purposefully across the lawn, his thick arms spread wide.

"Good morrow, old friend!" Edmund exclaimed, dismounting to meet the man in a firm, convivial handshake. "How fares the kingdom?"

"Is that King Lune?" Enna whispered to Aramir, who shrugged helplessly.

"Ah, excellent, most excellent," the man replied. "And how goes it for you?"

"We have our difficulties," Edmund answered honestly.

The man clapped him on the shoulder with a thick hand, a merry laugh shaking his stomach. "Too true, my young sire! But—I forget myself—how good it is to see you and your fair royal sister in my city again!"

"'Tis certainly been too long, Lune."

"'Tis, 'tis! Though I must say, we were not expecting you."

Edmund shook his hand in the air. "Do not fret over such trivialities. We are not here for society, my friend—as you may see, we are here for a matter of utmost importance. And haste is of the essence."

"That I see," King Lune said with another contagious laugh. "Come, come! You must rest your horses, change your clothes, and eat a morsel or two—diplomacy can wait a few hours, I daresay."

Edmund shot Enna and the other two a slightly pained look. "We do appreciate your hospitality, kind sire, but really—"

"Nonsense!" King Lune clapped Edmund's shoulder again, sending the much younger man staggering forward a step. "I find that dialogue is much more agreeable and successful when both parties are comfortable and rested—and I conjecture by the state of your mounts and the thinness of your faces, you are neither! I insist. Come, lads, take the horses!"

From seemingly out of nowhere, several servants in green and yellow livery appeared to take the reins of the four horses; Enna, Aramir, and Lucy dismounted awkwardly and handed away their mounts.

"I suppose we have no choice now," Edmund said with a light smile. "Very well, Lune, we shall accept your generosity for the time being. But we must request a private audience with you upon earliest convenience."

"Fair enough," said Lune. "I accept wholeheartedly. But now—let my servants take you to your chambers to rest and tidy up. Afterwards you may consult with me as long as you like, and introduce to me your young companions."

He clapped his hands, and a maidservant slipped her hand into Enna's, making the latter jump with surprise. "Come, milady," she said lightly in that lilting Archenlandian accent. "I believe my master has garb in a manner that will fit milady well."

"Er—well, all right," Enna stammered.

The maidservant smiled and led her out of the green courtyard and into the palace itself.

Enna had been expecting a dark and possibly smoky interior, but when a footman closed the thick oaken doors behind her and the other three, bright sunlight still streamed into the vast hall through equally immense windows, their panes of glass flung wide open for the fresh, soft breezes that blew up from the blooming plains below. Everywhere the maid led her was bright and open, with corridors boasting lovely, glassless arches that must be incredibly inconvenient in foul weather.

"These will be your chambers for the entirety of your visit, milady," said the maidservant at last, curtsying respectfully as she opened a door. Enna walked in, her worn boots sighing on the cobblestones—whereas her chambers in Cair Paravel had been ascetic almost to the point of appearing spartan, with naught but a bed and a desk for decoration, these rooms were fresh and gaily lit, white shutters flung wide open to reveal the prospect of a large flower yard, perhaps an acre or more, boasting at least a dozen flowering fruit trees and innumerable species of green, bobbing plants. Several moss-covered statues of beautiful nymphs and of ancient kings dotted the soft lawn; a burbling stream ran through a shallow dike, and a family of mallard ducks swam down it, croaking in their odd little voices. A soft cushion was tucked into the niche under this wide window, and Enna knelt on it as she gazed out onto the garden.

"How lovely!" she said.

A moment later, there was a dull thud. She turned around to see a strapping young man setting a wooden tub on the floor in front of the fire as the maid stirred up the coals; another boy came in with two pails of water, which he poured into the tub. Another maid entered and emptied her buckets into the tub, and then the first lad reappeared and poured more water.

"Am I to bathe?" Enna asked in confusion.

"Of course, milady," said the maid, curtsying and drawing the shutters closed.

Enna eyed the tub. "The water isn't steaming."

The last manservant shut the door as he left, and the maid took up a bone comb. "In Archenland, we bathe in cool water—it stimulates the senses, milady, and gives the skin a lovely color."

"I'll say!" Enna exclaimed. "I refuse to get in icy water like that."

"'Tisn't icy, milady," the maidservant protested, attacking Enna's snarled hair with the comb. "Icy baths are barbaric."

"Aye—thus, I refuse to take one."

"Hot baths are only for the very young, the very elderly, and the infirm, milady."

"Then I am infirm," Enna said stubbornly.

The maidservant helped her stand. "Please, milady—it will not be long."

Enna dipped her hand into the water, and found it not as icy as she had feared, but nowhere near warm. "I shall die of shock."

"Milady shan't."

"I shall."

"Milady shan't." As she spoke, the maidservant began tugging at Enna's cloak, succeeding in unpinning it and throwing it aside. Enna snatched at her gown, but the maid began to insistently untie her stays, despite all her squirming. "Milady cannot attend the feast tonight—nor serve Their Foreign Majesties—all covered in travel dirt."

"I am not 'all covered'," Enna said with affront. Of course, she hadn't bathed in weeks, and was indeed rather muddy…

"_Milady_," the maid implored. "You might be done with it already!"

Enna glowered and let the maid peel the mud-encrusted clothing off of her grubby skin. As soon as she was undressed, she leapt into the water and muffled a strangled yelp as the cool water splashed over her bare skin.

"There, there, milady," soothed the maid, splashing more brisk water over Enna's head. "Just a moment." She rubbed soap into Enna's hair as the latter scrubbed vigorously at her skin, trying to stay warm and clean the mud away at the same time.

The maid sloshed water over Enna's head once again and helped her out of the bath, handing her a thick robe, which Enna took and wrapped tightly around herself, shivering.

"Was that so terrible, milady?" asked the maid.

"Aye," was Enna's stubborn response.

The maid took her hand and forced her to sit on a short little footstool, where Enna was subjected to pain and boredom for a full ten minutes while the young lady wrestled Enna's hair into a long plait, which she then did a very foolish thing to and pinned it all to the back of Enna's head. It was an odd feeling, and Enna brushed her hands away before she could do more damage.

"It is very fashionable, milady," she protested.

"I think it strange," Enna retorted.

The maid shook her head and motioned to a large oaken chest at the foot of the bed (four-postered, like at Cair Paravel, but with fine white curtains instead of the heavy velvet ones Enna was used to). "Milady will find garb in there," she said. "But His Majesty Lune implores you to rest before tonight's feast."

"Mhm," said Enna.

The maid picked up Enna's soiled clothes, curtsied lightly, and scampered from the room, no doubt eager to rid herself of this cantankerous foreign mistress and gossip about her to all the palace servants.

As soon as the door shut behind the girl, Enna used her fingers to loosen the tightness of the strange mass of braids pinned to the back of her head and went immediately to the chest. There was, indeed, a great store of clothing, some bright and others brighter, but Enna assumed that few of the gowns would fit her tall and sturdy frame. One gown in particular, however, caught her eye, and she gazed at it wistfully; it was a bright daffodil yellow, loose and light, and came accompanied with a soft white underdress. Out of wishful thinking more than anything, she slipped both items on, and found, to her surprise, that it fit nearly perfectly.

_I do like Archenlandian clothing_, Enna thought gleefully, and put her muddy boots on, having no intention of sitting around inside when there was so much to be studied. And so, she went silently from the room, shutting the door softly behind her, and tiptoed down the corridor, intent on finding a way into that delightful little garden.

It did not take long for her to find it, a high arched entryway that led onto a soft green lawn. There was no one there but for a young boy in a soiled tunic bouncing a rubber ball off of a stone water fixture. Enna felt a bit guilty, knowing that she really shouldn't be there, but the boy spared her only a glance before turning back to her game, so she went about her own business, smelling each flower and fragrant bush she came across.

Eventually, the ball that the boy was playing with hit the corner of the fountain and went bouncing awry, striking Enna's heel and rolling under her skirts. She knelt and picked it up, and said, "Perhaps you ought to be more careful, lad."

The boy stuck out his tongue at her. "I bet you can't throw it back here."

Enna stared at his insolence, squeezing the ball in her hand. "That was quite uncalled for."

"I bet you throw like a girl."

Goaded beyond patience, Enna drew back her hand and threw the ball to him, and he caught it, hardly shamefaced. "I bet _you_ can't throw it back."

"I can, too!"

"Hardly."

The boy tossed her the ball, and she caught it against her stomach, shooting the young lad a teasing grin before throwing it back. It did not take long for the boy to realize that he had just found a new playmate, and soon they had begun a quick game of catch. However, it also didn't take long for Enna to realize that her young friend had more strength and recklessness to his name than a dozen angry bulls. One of his throws, in particular, went far awry and struck a mossy statue, breaking its hand clean off. The crash echoed against the palace walls, and a moment later, a voice called out from somewhere inside, "Prince Corin?"

Enna and the boy looked at each other only briefly before (very foolishly) running from the scene of the misdeed. The boy ran off to hide further out in the gardens, but Enna dashed back into the airy palace to return to her room without being found out.

However, she had not counted on Edmund and Aramir standing perplexedly outside her door, peering concernedly into her empty room and wondering aloud where she could be.

--

_A/N2: Y'know, I've always thought of King Lune as looking a bit like Prince Philip's father in Disney's "Sleeping Beauty." Hahaha! _


	18. Chapter Eighteen

_A/N: Hey! I live! Sorry for the long delay—you can only imagine what May of my junior year is like—wrapping things up, final exams, big papers and projects, getting things like the newspaper ready for next year, softball tournaments, concerts, graduations…oy vay. I haven't come straight home after school in over a month! But hopefully this chapter will make up for the VERY LONG WAIT!_

--

Biting her lip in chagrin, Enna cleared her throat. Edmund and Aramir looked up at her simultaneously, their eyes darting quickly over her fresh clothes. "Where have you been?" Aramir asked. "We were told you were asleep."

"I wasn't tired," Enna answered, and walked the rest of the way towards them, eyeing their own Archenlandian garb—this clothing was actually in vogue, as opposed to the garments Lord Dorovan had given them. "What do you want?"

"We were hoping to convince King Lune to meet with us before the feast tonight," Edmund said. "He is a fabulous man, but occasionally needs some encouragement to settle down to business."

"All right," said Enna. "By all means—diplomacy."

"I'll get Lucy, then," Edmund said, and went away to find Lucy's room.

Enna looked at Aramir, who had an odd look on his face. "Are you ready to meet His Majesty Lune?"

"Aye."

"What are we going to say to him? 'Your Majesty, immediately throw out any Galmanians that might wander into your kingdom'? Hardly. We ought to have come up with something a bit more eloquent than that."

"Mmhmm."

"He seems pleasant enough, though. Edmund said he is a close ally? Perhaps he won't be hard to convince."

"Aye."

Enna looked over at Aramir, puzzled by his uncharacteristically brusque responses. He still had that slightly dazed look on his face, one eyebrow higher than the other in an expression of interest. She parodied the look and said, "Do you see something that displeases you, kind sir?"

He shook his head as though waking. "No, hardly."

"Then why do you have that silly look on your face?"

Aramir gave a mild grin. "I've just never seen you with your hair up before."

Enna hadn't given a second thought to her new hairstyle before this moment, but at Aramir's amiable comment, she felt suddenly very self-conscious of it. Nervously, she touched the mass of plaits pinned to the base of her neck, feeling all the stray strands and bits of curls that were escaping from the mound. "It looks very odd, I know."

Aramir shrugged lightly, folding his arms over his chest. "I never said it looks odd."

"Oh?"

"Aye."

"Then what does it look like?"

"Nice."

"'Nice'?"

"Aye."

Enna felt her face flare up—he was mocking her, and it stung worse than it should have. Crossly, she folded her arms across her chest and looked away, wishing she had time to duck into her room and yank all the pins from her hair and toss them into the fire. "Well, _thank_ you, kind sir," she said scathingly.

"I'm trying to give you a compliment, Enna," Aramir burst out, dropping his arms. "You're hardly making it any easier!"

She looked over at him, taken aback. "You're—what?"

"Trying to give you a compliment." Aramir scowled at the floor. "I'm sorry if I cannot give such effusive praise as _other_ men in your acquaintance."

_Peter_. Enna winced as she felt her chagrin quickly melt away, and she felt her angered flush disappear. "Well, you might've just said so in the beginning. I still don't quite know what you mean by saying my hair looks 'nice'."

"Fine." Aramir took a deep breath. "You look—I think you look rather…pretty with your hair like that."

His bashfulness charmed Enna. "Well, thank you. Next time you think to flatter a lady, though, Aramir, just say what you mean right off."

"I'll keep that in mind," he grumbled.

Enna smiled, pink with pleasure. At this moment, Edmund came back down the hall with Lucy in tow, and he said crossly, "Now that Her Majesty has graced us with her presence, we can go and see to Lune."

"Hardly," Lucy said with equal annoyance. _"I_ was asleep."

"You should've stayed awake!" Edmund retorted. "You knew we were going to try and see him after we changed. Now come along, friends, I saw Lune in the courtyard still."

"He said we ought to rest," Lucy answered, running after her bother as he began to stride away. "I was tired, and I wanted to rest!"

Aramir bent his head to Enna's ear and whispered, "They bicker over more foolish things than we!"

His breath tickled her ear and neck, and she stifled a laugh. "Too true!"

Edmund looked over his shoulder at the sound, and Enna sobered.

They found King Lune lounging in his cushy chair on the lawn in front of the palace. He stood up with a jovial laugh and clapped his knees, saying, "Ah, young monarchs—so full of vim and vigor!"

"If you don't mind, Lune," Edmund said, "we _are_ a bit pressed for time."

"Aye, aye," Lune said. "Diplomacy must be done, eh? Well, follow me. We'll go to my library, sit down with some paper and ink and comfy chairs."

Edmund nodded dutifully, and they followed Lune back into the castle, whereupon the fat old king ushered them through a doorway and into the largest library Enna had ever seen—larger, even, than the one at Cair Paravel! Bookcases stretched to the ceiling, miles above their heads, and tall ladders with wheels on them rested in various places against the shelves. Towards the end of the vast room was an equally vast mahogany desk, glimmering in the fire- and sunlight, a tall-backed, cushioned chair behind it looking as though someone had just vacated it a moment ago.

"Come in, come in," Lune boomed, stumping over to his chair and sitting down with a groan and a sigh. "Find seats, if you are so inclined."

Enna sat on a horsehair settee, the heat of the glowing embers behind Lune's desk making the room a bit oppressive. Aramir and Lucy and Edmund sat nearby her, Edmund pulling his chair close to Lune's desk.

"Now, first things first," said Lune. "My liege Edmund, you must introduce me to your friends."

Edmund did not look pleased at this delay, but he turned slightly around. "Lune, please meet Sir Aramir Ealion, knight of Narnia."

"How do you do, good king?" Aramir asked.

"Knight of Narnia, you say?" Lune replied. "Why, I have been led to believe you Narnians are of a more…shall we say, _mammalian_ nature."

"I am of Archenlandian blood, sire," said Aramir with a hidden grin.

Lune grunted appreciatively. "The best kind there is, young sir, you can be sure of that. Now—what of this quiet little lass?"

Enna never appreciated being called 'lass', but Lune seemed to use the term in a gentle, friendly way, rather like how Aramir did. Edmund cleared his throat and said, "That 'lass' is Her Majesty Enwynna Pevensie, queen of Narnia by virtue of marriage to my most noble brother, the High King Peter."

"Well!" Lune clapped his hands together, turning ruddy with amusement. "Fancy that, my mistaking a queen for a lady-in-waiting! You must forgive me, Your Highness. I was unaware of the high king's marriage."

"It's quite understandable," said Enna lightly. "I'm not offended. And please, do call me Enna."

"All right, Queen Enna," said Lune with a laugh. "Tell me, what is your lineage?"

"My father was Vatorian Stalresin," said Enna, "my mother the good woman Ilsta. He was a merchant of Galma for many years."

Lune stroked his beard. "Stalresin, eh? Well, I daresay I've seen your face before, but never heard the name. Have you ever been to Archenland?"

"No, sire, never."

"Hm. Curious."

"The subject of Enna's family is precisely the reason we have come, good king Lune," Edmund cut in.

"Quite right. Go on, then, let us parley." King Lune folded his thick, meaty hands under his bearded chin and rested his elbows on the desk with an expression of utmost interest.

Edmund took a deep breath. "You see, Lune, in October of last year, a merchant ship docked in our harbor, and the captain brought ashore a sea ra—pardon me, a stowaway—and demanded a trial. Bound as we were by the Navigation Acts, we acceded and found both parties guilty: the stowaway for breaking international law and the captain for doing the same—"

"He beat his crewmembers savagely and maltreated the prisoner," Aramir cut in.

"Aye. And we thus expelled the captain and the ship from Narnian ports."

Lune nodded thoughtfully. "I see."

Enna bit her lip—Lune could not understand the enormity of the problem unless he was told the whole story. "You see, sire, _I_ was that stowaway."

The other four occupants of the room stared at her, and she felt heat rising in her face. _"You_, my queen?" Lune asked.

Enna lifted her head proudly. "Aye. I had stowed away, for I feared for my life in Galma under my uncle's mastery. When my father died, you see, he married my mother and inherited my estate."

"I truly _do_ see, then," Lune said.

"And once he learned that I was harbored in Narnia, he decided that he would risk civil war in order to drag me back to Galma." Enna sighed.

"We believe he has since set his sights on a much higher target," Aramir said.

"And that is…?"

"Independence for Galma and control by that island of Narnia."

Lune's face did not change, but he sat up a little straighter. "And how do you know this?"

"As we speak," Aramir said, "that uncle's troops, after waging several battles on Narnian territory, are pouring out. One faction has gone northwest, back into Narnia; one has gone far south, to Calormen, and one, we fear, is burning its way to Anvard. We encountered them on our journey here—they have burnt several Archenlandian towns to the ground."

King Lune was silent, his fists white-knuckled on the desktop. "Why do you tell me this?" he asked in a low grumble.

Edmund shot Aramir a startled look. "We have come to remind you of your alliance with Narnia," he said quickly. "We ask you to resist the advances of the Galmanian snake."

With a roar, Lune stood up, and Enna felt her flush drain away quickly. "What I meant, good sir king, was, why do you even bother to _ask_ me if I will join you! This—this—this _Galmanian_ must be stayed! Before he harms more of my people, or yours. My palace, my knights, and my army is Narnia's for the use, my friends."

With this pronouncement, Enna's heart leapt, and she felt gratefulness prickle up and down her hairline. Aramir shot her a relieved look.

"This is most excellent," Edmund said with a wide grin, reaching over the desk to clap Lune's broad shoulders.

"Indeed, indeed. But I must caution Your Majesties. As an experienced monarch, I beg you, pay heed to my words."

Enna did not need to be told twice.

"It sounds to me as though this Galmanian is as crafty a devil as I've seen. I counsel you to deal in equal shrewdness."

"I've an idea," Enna said.

Four pairs of eyes turned to look at her.

"My uncle will doubtless send legates to Anvard," she went on. "I suggest that we welcome these delegates with seeming hospitality, stuffing them so full of wine and food and good times that they are in no hurry to return to camp. Meanwhile, we might use the time to think of a plan and build up our armies."

Lune coughed. "My, my, Queen Enna—I daresay you _are_ the sly fox! She speaks wisdom, friends. I say, let's."

Aramir shot her a teasing grin, and Edmund frowned. "Very well. We shall."

With that, Lune clapped loudly again. "Excellent! Now that that's all cleared up, at least for now…I think the feast will be starting momentarily. Go have your servants do you up in clothing that befits your stations as my honored guests—you will eat well tonight, I guarantee you that!"

"Aye, sire," said Lucy happily, the first really exciting thing she'd heard since the meeting began.

Lune bowed and exited the library, humming pleasantly.

"That went well," said Aramir agreeably.

"I suppose we shall see," muttered Edmund in response.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

_A/N: Woohoo! Summer's here! :D That means updates! :DD_

--

When King Lune mentioned that night's feast, Enna had assumed he meant a large palace meal, like the ones hosted at Cair Paravel: a few courses, good conversation, and a speech from the king.

It didn't take long for Enna realize that her assumptions were wrong.

She, Aramir, Edmund, and Lucy were announced to the assembly by a loud trumpet fanfare and the clear voice of a chamberlain saying, "Announcing His Majesty King Edmund of Narnia, Duke of Lantern Waste, Count of the Western March, and Knight of the Noble Order of the Table; Her Majesty Queen Lucy of Narnia; Her Majesty Queen Enwynna of Narnia by virtue of His Majesty High King Peter; and Sir Aramir Ealion, distinguished knight of Narnia." They, clad in that light, airy Archenlandian finery, entered the great hall to a standing ovation from the (to Enna) strangely bipedal occupants and were seated at the long, handsomely dressed head table with King Lune and all his lords and their ladies.

"Good evening, Your Majesty," said a very pretty young woman, curtsying low as Enna made her way to her seat. "Welcome to Archenland."

Enna glanced quickly over both shoulders before returning the gesture, just to make sure she wasn't imagining the greeting. "I thank you, Lady…?"

"Tamlyn," the girl hastily replied. "Daughter of Lord Markis."

"Lady Tamlyn."

"Your Majesty, it is an honor to share a table with you."

Enna blushed. "Really, it's hardly special…"

Lady Tamlyn giggled. "Oh, but I have the prestige of serving you as lady-in-waiting during your stay in Anvard."

"Oh?" said Enna, surprised.

"Aye," said Lady Tamlyn.

"Who's your friend, Enna?" came Aramir's voice from behind her.

Enna turned partway to see him at her elbow. "Oh—Aramir, this is Lady Tamlyn, daughter of Lord Markis. She…she seems to be my lady-in-waiting. Lady Tamlyn, this is Ar—_Sir_ Aramir Ealion."

Tamlyn's porcelain skin flushed as she dipped into a curtsy. "It is an honor, sir," she said in a voice breathier than usual.

"'Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance," replied Aramir amiably. "Shall we sit?"

Tamlyn laughed almost giddily and sat in the seat to Enna's left.

"Your Majesty Enna," boomed Lune just as Enna was sweeping her skirts aside to sit down beside Aramir.

"Aye, sire?" she replied, looking over Aramir's head.

"Have you met my son, the prince Corin?"

Enna immediately remembered the conflicting opinions on this boy. "No, sire."

Lune clapped his chest with a meaty hand, seemingly taken aback. "No? Well, that shall soon be remedied. Corin! Corin!"

The boy that Enna had played ball with earlier that day shuffled to Lune's throne. Enna would scarcely have recognized him had it not been for a cross look on his clean face: his flaxen hair was neat and he was dressed in fine clothes with a small crown perched on his head. Mortified almost beyond words, Enna curtsied deeply as Lune introduced her—what if the little scamp told on her rowdy behavior, and blamed her for the broken statue?

But she should have realized she had nothing to fear. The young Corin blanched when he recognized her, and stammered out a greeting before quickly excusing himself. Lune looked a bit pained when he turned back to her. "You must forgive the young prince, my lady—he is still learning."

"I think him quite charming," Enna replied, thinking of their little game.

"Well, that indeed is good news. Now, it looks as though our meal is about to be brought out—there is someone else I would have you meet, before the night is over. Do not let me forget."

"Aye, sire," Enna said, and found her seat.

"I saw you met Corin," Aramir murmured as she settled down beside him. "Who is more right—Lucy or Edmund?"

"I think Corin a delightful rascal," Enna replied with an arch smile.

Aramir looked ready to question her judgment, but at that moment, the doors at the far end of the long, well-list hall opened and a great host of menservants, all clad in green and yellow, came in with their arms loaded down with food. The meal did not come in courses, like in Narnia—it came all at once, in a great, glorious wave of delicious smells and sights. All of a sudden, Enna remembered how long it had been since she'd had a decent meal, and, despite the hearty snack she'd eaten earlier, dug in vigorously, sampling a bit of every soup, every platter of poultry and ham and other animal flesh, every brightly-colored and exotic fruit. Lady Tamlyn gave her occasional alarmed looks, once advising that "Her Majesty slow her pace slightly—they didn't want her coming down with indigestion!"

But Enna ignored her and continued to eat and drink, listening intently to Aramir as he and Lune discussed Galma and how they might go about defeating them. Lune seemed impressed at Aramir's understanding, but Enna couldn't help but remember how adverse to the whole situation he had once been.

_It's a shame that it took the death of his family to set him straight_, she thought.

Halfway through the meal, a troupe of musicians in airy garments of pink and blue, their fingers and ankles decorated with tinkling bells, made their entrance, to much applause. They danced and swayed to and fro, playing some of the strangest instruments Enna had ever seen: a lute, played sideways; a small gamba, placed under a man's chin as he drew an equally small bow across the strings.

A girl stroking the strings of a lyre approached the dais. Enna paid her no attention; that is, until Lune and Aramir abandoned their conversation and turned their eyes to the girl. Then Enna noticed how rather scantily clad she was, and how heavily rouged. She was undulating in time with the music, shooting Aramir sultry looks from darkly-ocred eyes, moving against the lyre like it was a living being.

Enna looked away, embarrassed for the girl. Such actions would never be condoned in Narnia, that was certain! But still the girl danced, brushing her bejeweled fingers over the table when she wasn't using them to strum the lyre. Why didn't Lune call for her to stop? Better yet, why didn't Aramir look away? The two men sat there, still as stone, watching her keenly.

Suddenly, the goblet at Enna's elbow crashed to the table, spilling red mead all over the white tablecloth and splashing a bit on the dancing girl. Her music stopped abruptly as she and Aramir leapt backwards from the table, away from the dripping drink.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Enna cried, though she wasn't really. She picked up her goblet and set it on its base, blushing.

"No worries," Aramir replied. He took a linen from a nearby servant and began sopping up the spill. "Quite all right."

Enna looked up to see the dancing girl slipping back to her troupe, and a wave of relief rushed over her even as she salvaged platters of food from the flood of mead, Aramir at her side.

"Are you all right?" he asked in a low voice.

"Aye," Enna lied.

Aramir looked at her, but went on soaking up the rest of the drink.

"Your Majesty Enna!" came Lune's booming voice.

Enna looked up. "Aye?"

"I'd like you to meet someone," Lune replied, standing up with a groan.

Enna stepped away from her seat and towards Lune. Behind him was standing a very handsome young man with a long, straight nose, dressed in a tunic of a fine dark blue that nearly put Lune's purple one to shame. But what struck Enna the most was his face—she had _seen_ him somewhere before.

"Your Majesty," said Lune, "I present to you Lord Endrit, son of Lord Bodmor of Roscommon Castle. Lord Endrit, please to meet Her Majesty Enwynna of Narnia."

"Pleased to meet you, Lord Endrit," said Enna with a curtsy. _I do not know the name._

"The pleasure is mine, Your Highness," said Lord Endrit, bowing deeply.

Lune clapped the young man on the shoulder. "Lord Endrit is a captain in my cavalry."

"How nice," said Enna.

"His wife just had a child, if I'm not mistaken," Lune went on.

Endrit ducked his head, hiding a proud grin. "Aye—a son. Erec."

"Only nineteen," laughed Lune, "and already a captain with a fine heir. I tell you, Queen Enna, this lad is a noteworthy one."

"Quite," Enna smiled.

Lord Endrit smiled back at her. "You must forgive me for the informality," he said with another deep bow, "but Your Majesty, but I couldn't help but notice the similarities in our names."

Enna blinked. "Enna and Endrit—why, I believe you're right! How winsome."

"Lord Endrit is the person I wanted you to meet, Your Majesty," said Lune. "I told you that your face reminded me of someone—his. Sir Aramir, wouldn't you agree?"

Aramir looked over his shoulder and blinked. "Aye—the similarity is very strong, sire."

Enna looked at Endrit. It had been ages since she'd had regular access to a mirror, so she could not gauge the truth of Lune and Aramir's opinions. "Is it? I never guessed."

"Curious thing, isn't it?" said Lune. "Well, you ought to meet Lady Roscommon. Er—when is she planning on coming out of withdrawal, Lord Endrit?"

"Within the fortnight, sire," Lord Endrit replied. "She does miss Anvardian society, and Erec is now nearly a month old."

"Good, good," said Lune. "Well, I thank you for coming over here, good sir."

"It was a pleasure, Your Highness. And it was an honor to meet you, Your Majesty."

"The honor was mine," Enna replied, curtsying.

"Nice fellow, don't you think?" said Lune once Endrit was out of earshot.

Enna nodded, privately thinking that the whole meeting was a rather idle, aimless one. But when she sat down again, Lady Tamlyn leaned over and said, "So you met Lord Endrit?"

"Aye," Enna replied.

"He is very, very good-looking, is he not?" Tamlyn giggled. "'Tis a shame he married the woman he did."

Enna looked at her. "Why is that?"

Tamlyn gasped. "You mean you haven't heard?"

"I would not be asking if I had."

Unabashed, the girl leaned very close and said in a conspiratorial whisper, "Her name is Reselda, and she is very nearly twice his age—36."

Enna raised an eyebrow. "I see nothing terribly wrong with that. 'Tis dangerous to bear children at such an age, but…"

"That's not all," Tamlyn continued. "About a year and a half ago, Lord Endrit went to the south on a military enterprise and met her in _Pittenween_. Pittenween! He took her here to Anvard and married her—she has not once been to the east, or been to Roscommon Castle."

"I'm afraid I do not follow," Enna replied, beginning to feel a bit intrigued. "What is so shocking about Pittenween?"

Tamlyn blushed. "I should not say, Your Majesty. My father would be most displeased if he discovered I knew."

"I won't breathe a word, I swear it," Enna said breathlessly.

Tamlyn, encouraged by Enna's waxing interest, leaned in. "Pittenween is a reprobate city, Your Majesty…good folk don't venture into its walls."

Enna tilted her head in thought. What could a city possibly do to gain the reputation of immorality? "I don't…"

"_Harlotry_, Your Majesty," hissed Tamlyn. "Harlotry and drink!"

Enna gasped as she finally understood. "Are you saying Lady Roscommon…"

"I am not _saying_, Your Highness," Tamlyn replied forcefully. "I _know_! If you ever meet her, you will see the evidence in her face, her mannerisms. She was a doxy, through and through. If it weren't for her marriage to the esteemed Lord Bodmor's son, Anvard would have nothing to do with her."

"How is Lord Bodmor esteemed enough to allow you people to overlook his daughter-in-law's unfortunate identity?"

"He was an illustrious general, in his prime," Tamlyn answered, leaning back now that the conversation was somewhat less than interesting. "He saved His Majesty Lune's life once in battle, and helped win a war. He has rather gone to seed, now, and spends much of his time in Roscommon Castle. I believe he is here in his Anvard chalet, though, staying with Lord Endrit and Lady Reselda."

"I see," said Enna. "Well, that _is_ something. Is he married?"

"A widower," replied Tamlyn. "Lord Endrit's mother died shortly after his birth. They never speak of her."

"How sad."

"Indeed." Tamlyn helped herself to a puffy pastry. "I say, I am quite full! Will Your Majesty be retiring soon?"

Enna was about to ask what business it was of Tamlyn's, but then she remembered—lady-in-waiting. "Well, I suppose."

"Good. I'm exhausted. Shall we?"

"May one just…get up and leave, then?" Enna asked, startled by Tamlyn's readiness to do so.

"Why, of course!" Tamlyn laughed in amazement. "Begging your pardon, Your Majesty, but you have much to learn about Archenland. We are much less ceremonious than other countries."

"So I see," Enna replied, impressed. She had gone down steadily in formality from the Galmanian court, to the Narnian court, and now to the Archenlandian court. "I must say, it is very nice."

"'Tis indeed," Tamlyn said with an affectionate smile. "I do love Archenland. And I hope you will learn to love it just as much, Your Highness."

Enna looked around the hall at the smiling, finely dressed Archenlandian nobles, their faces ruddy with laughter and good company. "I doubt it will take long."

"Good—now, let's retire," said Tamlyn. "It's been a long day."

Enna laughed. "Aye—a long day, indeed!"


	20. Chapter Twenty

_A/N: Meh, shorter than I expected. But hey, it's an update! :D_

--

Enna retired happily to her goosedown bed, ready for a long, peaceful sleep. But sleep wouldn't come. Gradually, the distant sounds of activity in the palace died down as everyone else went to bed, but still Enna laid in hers, staring up at the fabric suspended between the four posts. It was too quiet in her chambers—silent as death. She hadn't known it, but she had grown accustomed to the sounds of other people nearby—months under the stars with crickets and companions to fill the night air with the sound of their breathing had quite spoiled her to a soundless room.

Midnight came and went, but Enna kept tossing and turning, trying to find the cool side of her pillow, kicking the sheets aside to silence the buzzing in her ears. At last, exhausted beyond belief, she sat up and dragged a robe on over her nightgown. _Aramir must be asleep,_ she told herself. _He won't mind if I spend the night in his room—besides, I'll leave before he wakes._

Taking her pillow and the top blanket from her bed, Enna slipped from the room, shutting the door softly behind her. Blue moonlight and a light breeze streamed in through the wide windows, but the corridor was absolutely devoid of human life. Clutching her pillow to her chest, Enna tiptoed across the cold flagstones towards Aramir's nearby chamber door. She was nearly there, reaching for the knob, when, suddenly and dreadfully, someone's long arms snaked around her waist and brought her crushingly against their chest, their thick-fingered hands spreading out possessively across her pelvis; that same someone's hot breath seared her neck as wet lips smeared against her ear.

Enna's first thought was that it was Edmund. Her stomach clenching at the repulsive sensation of being touched in such a way, she reached back and pinched his arm as roughly as she dared. "Edmund, _please_!" Her voice echoed oddly along the corridor.

He answered, without releasing her, in a rumbling voice, "Ah, don't play hard to get, Finella."

_Finella?_ It was then that Enna realized this man was _not_ Edmund, and she gladly unsheathed her claws. "Get your slimy paws off me, you lout!" she cried, dropping her pillow and blanket to the ground.

"Lout? Who you calling lout? It's me—Jockie!"

Enna ignored him and jabbed her elbow into his gut. The stranger doubled up with a loud groan, his grip on her waist slipping, and then she aimed a blow to his jaw, forcing him to drop his hands entirely. "That shall teach you well and good, you barbarian," she snapped, quickly gathering up her things and holding them protectively in front of her.

Jockie, clutching his chin in one hand, looked up at her. "'Ey, you're not Finella!"

"You're damn right!"

Like a fury loosed from hell, Aramir, his tunic loosed from its belt, flew past Enna and pinned the offender to a column between two of the large windows, his face dark and wild. Jockie bleated in fright, holding his hands above his head, staring at Aramir with terror in his eyes. "Look—I—I didn't know—she looks like Finella from behind—"

Aramir gave him a rough shake. "I don't care _who_ she looks like. You pawed the queen of Narnia, you ass!"

This was the first time Enna was glad to have that title before her name. Jockie's eyes rolled back in his head, and he whispered, "Forgive me…forgive me! I didn't know!"

"Think on that before you decide to grope at another lass, then!" Aramir tightened his grip on Jockie's collar briefly but threateningly. "I will speak to your master about your appalling conduct, mark my words."

"Aye, sir," Jockie squeaked.

Aramir glared at him for another moment, then set him unceremoniously on his feet. Jockie, as soon as he was steady, took off at an ungainly run, shooting terrified looks at the two remaining people behind him as he went. As soon as he was around the corner, Aramir turned to Enna. "Are you hurt?" he asked, taking her elbow in a gentle grip.

Enna flinched despite herself, and he quickly let go. "Aye—I'm fine. My hand hurts, but I suppose that's my own fault." She massaged her aching knuckles, now regretting the thuggish way she'd hit her poor, misunderstanding assailant.

"So he didn't try to—"

"Not once he realized I wasn't Finella, or whatever her name was, no."

Aramir sighed, clearly still nettled. "It really irks me how he thinks he's the right to—to grope at palace girls in that dreadful manner."

"In all fairness, Aramir, he thought I was someone else."

"Still. It isn't right. You shouldn't have to fear being mistaken for another."

Enna looked up at him and said, more to appease his masculine pride than anything else, "You were very brave in coming to my rescue, though."

He grunted, now slightly mollified.

"Did I wake you?" she went on.

"No, I was still up. What are you doing out here, anyway?"

Enna cleared her throat and looked down at her toes. "Well, I…I…I can't sleep. It's too quiet."

"So you…decided to patrol the corridors?"

"No. I…I had hoped you would be asleep, and that I could…possibly kip on the floor of your chamber."

Aramir raised his eyebrows at her, effecting a blush. "Why didn't you just go to Lucy? She'd gladly share her bed with you."

"…I…hadn't thought of that," Enna said quietly, feeling more than slightly stupid.

"Well, never mind that now," he went on briskly, "you're down here already, you might as well." He opened the door to his chamber. "Come in, you can have my bed and I'll take the floor."

Enna was mostly through the doorway when she heard him say this. "You, take the floor? In your own chambers? I'll have nothing of it. You have your bed and _I'll_ sleep on the floor. I don't mean to inconvenience you in any way."

"Well, I can't let you sleep on the floor," Aramir countered, lighting a few braziers on the wall. "It's terribly cold and uncomfortable."

"Why should _I_ let _you_ sleep there, then?" Enna rejoined.

"You oughtn't sleep on the floor."

"Neither should you!"

"Well, I'm not in a family way." Aramir blushed bright red as he said this, and proceeded to pull a pillow from the bed and put it pointedly on the floor.

Enna gaped at him. Did he think—did she _look_—"Aramir, do you…am I…tell me, where do you _get_ your ideas!" She laughed incredulously, clutching her robe a little tighter about herself. "I am most _certainly_ not with child!"

"How can you be positive?" Aramir asked, refusing to meet her eye.

She coughed out a little astonished hoot. "Trust me—I _am_ positive.

Aramir did not look convinced at all, only pulled a few blankets off the bed to put on the floor. Enna rushed forward and caught one of them so he couldn't take it off and tugged it slightly towards herself, forcing his attention back to her. "Aramir—really. I'm not. I tried to convince Lucy of this a little while ago, and she didn't believe me, either. But _you've_ got to. I—Peter—we didn't—that is to say, well…" She cleared her throat and ducked her head. "The marriage wasn't ever consummated."

Aramir froze, his eyes pinned to a place somewhere beside Enna, and after a brief, uncomfortable pause, said, "Oh."

"Aye."

"So I suppose there's no way in which you could be expecting."

"None whatsoever. Now, will you let me sleep on the floor?"

He let out a genuine laugh. "Hardly!"

"What? Whyever not? I just told you, I'm quite suited for it!"

"Can't you tell?" Aramir said with a teasing grin. "I refuse to let you sleep on the ground, no matter which way you turn it."

Enna crossed her arms. "Then I refuse to sleep in your bed."

He mirrored her stance. "Then I refuse to sleep."

"As do I."

A full minute of silence passed as they stood stock still, staring each other down. Eventually, though, Enna felt the full weight of the late hour begin to bear down on her eyelids and shoulders, and she shook her head. "Very well. I shall sleep tonight in the bed. But mark my words, you'll regret it soon enough."

"We'll see about that," Aramir snorted in response.

Eyeing him darkly, Enna gave him her blanket and a few more pillows and put her own on the left side of the large bed. He made himself a neat little cot on the floor on the other side, and went around extinguishing the candles; Enna slipped between the cool sheets, robe and all, and drew the blankets up high over her shoulder. Once the candles were doused, Aramir lowered himself to his little nest and made a deal about shifting the blankets and punching his pillow to perfection. But at last, he settled down, and his breathing slowed, and Enna felt herself melting into the comfy mattress with contentment.

Just as she was about to slip into sleep, however, she felt the mattress sag on one end and the blankets move slightly. The sensation should have alarmed her, but she only felt like laughing. "I told you," she murmured.

Aramir grunted sullenly. "This is quite unfitting."

"If it makes you feel better," Enna said, "you can put the extra pillows between us. There's plenty of room."

She felt the mattress shift and knew Aramir was doing so. "Sorry for waking you," he muttered as he worked, clearly displeased with himself.

"No matter," she yawned. "I'll just have to tease you tomorrow."

He snorted. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, indeed."

And this time, Enna fell asleep quickly, and stayed asleep.


	21. Chapter Twenty One

Enna woke the next morning to the sounds of Aramir quietly getting ready for the day. Too sleepy still to get up, herself, she watched discreetly as he shaved in the tiny mirror on the chamber wall, then pulled a tunic on over his head, his still scarred and disfigured back to her. Quietly he did up the ties on the shirt and ran a hand through his untidy hair before closing the shutters against the rising sun and slipping softly from the room. The silence he left behind him bore down on her ears, and at last she, too, got up and took her pillow and blanket with her back to her room. It wasn't as early as she thought, she realized as she tiptoed down the corridor—servants were up and about, and she got a few strange looks as she left one man's chambers and went to hers. Once inside, she changed into a fresh gown and plaited her hair (Tamlyn wasn't to be found) before also leaving the room. If Aramir had some place to go, doubtless she could go there, too.

It did not take long for her to find him. As it turned out, the palace was at breakfast, and she had slept later than most.

"Her Majesty wakes at last!" laughed King Lune as she slipped into the hall. "Tell me, Queen Enna, did you sleep well?"

"Aye, sire, once I did," she answered with a curtsy.

"Oh, Your Highness," Tamlyn said to Lune, "I think you underestimate Her Majesty Enna. When I went in to help her ready for the day, she was already gone. Methinks she was up _earlier_ than all of us, and went for a walk, perhaps?"

_No one must know where I spent the night,_ Enna thought feverishly. Out loud, she laughed lightly, avoiding Aramir's eyes, and said, "Aye, that may very well have been the case."

"Anvard's gardens are the pride of Archenland," said Lune as she took her seat. "Did you see them, my dear?"

"Oh, yes," Enna replied. "They are lovely, indeed."

Lune grunted with pleasure. "Aye. I have always said, anyone who does not see the beauty of my gardens does not truly know beauty."

Enna smiled and helped herself to a stack of jammed toast. "Archenland itself is very beautiful, Your Majesty."

"Ah, thank you," said Lune. "And this from the queen of another kingdom! To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"'Tis true," Enna replied. "I think Narnia is magnificent but…I must say, Archenland's loveliness is much more my taste."

Lune burst out in jolly, guffawing laughter. "Indeed! Indeed! Well, my dear lass, I do hope you shall see more of it!"

Enna grinned and accepted his offer of a splash of apple juice.

Eventually, as the breakfast was a very informal and comfortable affair, as it seemed right for Lune to like, Edmund and Lucy, who had been sitting on Lune's other side and were still rather bleary-eyed, set down their forks. "We thank you indeed for your warm generosity," began Edmund.

Enna's heart sank—every time he said that, it usually meant that their time indoors was coming to an end and they'd have to take to the saddle again.

"'Tis nothing, my boy!" Lune replied.

"Aye, and we also thank you deeply for remembering your word and joining hands with us in this effort against Galma," Edmund went on.

"Bah. You needn't even have asked."

"Aye. But…there is much left undecided, vague. We must ask that you call a parliament of your advisors, and that we together, as equal rulers, jointly decide with their judiciousness what to do with our combined strengths."

"Yes, yes," said Lune thoughtfully. "That is wise, indeed. It shall be done as you say, and right away."

"Wonderful!" cried Lucy.

Lune pushed his seat back from the table. "Come—let us gather in my throne room; it is there I meet regularly with my advisors."

Edmund and Lucy stood, too, and out of habit, Enna and Aramir pushed their seats back. But Edmund held out his hand. "I'm sorry, friends," he said, though he didn't look it—"this is a matter of state, for monarchs' ears only."

"I am a queen, Edmund," Enna rejoined.

"Aye, that you are," he replied, "but you are a queen _by marriage_. I think you wise indeed, but you are not trained in statehood or government."

Enna sank back to her chair, defeated. "Very well."

Lune looked pityingly at her briefly before leaving the hall, Lucy and Edmund at his heels. Tamlyn lightly patted Enna's hand once they'd left and said, "There, there, Your Majesty. There is plenty to do here in Anvard. Why, you can explore the gardens. Or play lawn games with us!"

_I'd rather die than play lawn games all day,_ Enna thought darkly. But thankfully, Aramir abandoned his seat for one closer.

"I've a suggestion," he said. "Would you come along if I said I wished to tour Anvard? I'm sure we could borrow a pair of horses if you were adverse to walking."

"Oh, that sounds beastly boring," Tamlyn said with a wrinkled nose.

"It sounds lovely to me," Enna countered. "But please, no horses. I daresay I've seen enough of saddles to last me a good deal."

"Very well, then. I'll see if I can't get a lump of cheese or something from the kitchens, in case we get hungry. I'll meet you by the fountain in a few minutes?"

"Indeed," Enna said with a smile.

Aramir grinned and left; Enna looked apologetically at Tamlyn, who shrugged and turned back to her croissant, and then she went back to her room to change her shoes from silky palace slippers to the thick, well-soled boots she'd worn through mud and rain and snow.

He was waiting by the fountain just as he'd said, and Enna hurried to his side. "Are you ready?" she asked.

"Of course. What is it you want to see?"

Enna turned and looked out over the city, already awake and bustling with activity. The sun, fresh and bright, lit up the stone walls of the palace and the distant ramparts surrounding Anvard; bright green banderoles fluttered from the tall guard towers set into the thick walls every sixty meters. Soldiers in bright armor patrolled to and fro, protecting Anvard from a danger no one expected. "Oh…I'd like to see it all, really. But I'd like to see how the Archenlandian army does things, too."

"Attalass," Aramir crowed, grinning. "I must admit, I was afraid I'd be subjugated to the marketplace, fawning over jewels and fine cloth."

Enna laughed and pinched his arm, hurrying ahead as they started down the cobbled road down to the main city. "You ought to know me better than that, my friend!"

Their footsteps echoed against the smooth stone cityhouses, the residents of which waved as they lounged on beflowered terraces. Eventually, though, the houses grew less and less lavish, and the streets more crowded. Old biddies croaked out gossip as they leaned on brooms, and once a band of children clad in worn but neatly mended clothes kicked a ball to Aramir, which he promptly tossed back.

"I find Anvard very pleasing," Enna said, trailing her fingertips in a bubbling fountain as they passed it, wishing for her acute enjoyment of the city to be made known without sounding disloyal to Narnia.

"Just 'pleasing'?" Aramir echoed. "I, Enna, think it the sweetest city I have ever seen."

"Really? I had thought myself untrue to Narnia and Cair Paravel, but…I do like Anvard, very much—from what I have seen of it, I like _Archenland_ very much. I would not be averse to someday living here. But," Enna added with a wry laugh, _"that_ will never be. I suppose Narnia must be my home."

"You'll forgive me for asking this, but…" Aramir looked very interested by the blue Archenlandian sky. "You hardly seem content to stay there."

Enna raised her eyebrows. "I never said that. I just…Peter will want to stay in Narnia, and I must stay there with him, as his…wife." The word stuck in her throat.

"You needn't, you know. There have been plenty of royal marriages in which the king stays in one castle and the queen in another."

That did sound rather nice—to be queen, without having to play 'little wifey' to Peter! "You sound as though you've resolved to settle here instead of back in Narnia," she said with a dry laugh.

Aramir didn't answer.

Enna turned to look at him, aghast. "You haven't—you're not going to leave Narnia, are you?"

Rather sheepishly, Aramir raised his grey eyes to meet hers. "I am hardly a great fit for Narnia," he said quietly. "You must admit, you've noticed it. I am not one for…for mountains and craggy hills and…no human companionship." He looked a little ashamed. "I _am_ an Archenlander by blood and birth, you know. And…I like it here. Even though what was left of my mother's family is gone away, I can't help but feel like I belong in Archenland."

"But you _can't_ leave!" Enna blustered. "You're—you're a _knight_!"

"I can still be a knight, even if I live in Archenland. Face it, Enna, what opportunity is there for me in Narnia? I have no great tactical mind. There is no schooling for a man my age there. I would be doomed to knighthood for my whole life, trapped in Cair Paravel until I _died_!"

His words stung something deep within Enna. Fighting the painful, unpleasant sensation, she said, "You would not be trapped there, Aramir. _I_…I would be there."

Aramir sighed. "I didn't mean it that way, Enna."

"Aye, well, it very well came across that way," she snapped. "Do you think I want to be trapped in Cair any more than you do? The only thing that has made the idea of long, harsh winters and thick snow and drafty castles any less disagreeable is the knowledge that _you_ would be there to endure them with me. Does that mean _nothing_ to you?"

"And what of Peter?" Aramir challenged.

"Peter! Bah!" she retorted carelessly.

"He is your husband."

"He may be my husband, but he is not my friend. _You_ are my friend, Aramir."

Aramir's mouth thinned a little bit and a light flush formed under his freckles. "Be that as it may, Enna, you have a duty to him and to Narnia. You might as well own up to it."

"Oh, blast duty," Enna grumbled. "I'd like to stay in Archenland forever."

To her surprise, Aramir chuckled in response. "You have a very skewed idea of marriage, if I may be allowed to say such a thing."

"Oh? And have you, oh wise master, ever been married?"

"One doesn't need to have experienced marriage in order to understand it, or the emotion that makes it such a desirable thing indeed."

Her vexation distracted momentarily, Enna sidestepped a large rock in her way and said, "What do you mean? Has valiant Sir Aramir been in love?"

"You might say that," he replied.

Enna laughed. "Well! I would never have guessed! Who was—or is?—this fair maiden that has so captured your heart as to actually persuade you marriage is so wonderful?"

"That, my lady, is none of your business," Aramir retorted.

Frowning, Enna replied, "I see." She had not been expecting such an unequivocal refusal, and now, being denied the knowledge of this secret beloved, she found the idea quite nettlesome. It would have been better if she had been given the name of this faceless lass. Without it, the notion that Aramir had once been—or was still!—in love irked her greatly.

They walked on, now both silent where they had been previously been chatting like a pair of old women.

--

_A/N: So, just curious…how do you all see Aramir? I asked you in _Sea Rat_ how you thought Enna looked, and now I'd like to see how you think of Aramir! :D My opinion next chapter. _


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

_A/N: Wow, aren't you guys lucky! Two updates in as many days! :D The miracle of summer._

--

"I suppose this is the armory," said Aramir at long last, his voice sounding oddly loud in the silence that had reigned between him and Enna.

She stirred herself from her reverie and looked up. A large tower loomed in front of them, its walls thick and windowless; there was but a single door for an entrance. Soldiers on recess, perched on the merlons and crenels of the city walls and lounging lazily on the steep staircase leading to the top, stared down curiously at them, spears held lightly but within easy use. "Perhaps we ought to come back another time when we have an official," Enna said anxiously.

"Perhaps," Aramir replied under his breath.

They were about to turn and quickly walk away when someone called out, "Your Majesty! Sir Aramir!"

The speaker was a man on horseback, clad in gleaming silver armor with an equally polished silver helm atop his head and obscuring his face. He lifted a gauntleted hand in greeting, which Enna and Aramir uncertainly echoed. "What brings you here from the palace?"

"I think it's Lord Endrit," Enna whispered under her breath. "I recognize his voice."

"Er—we had rather hoped to take a look at your men," Aramir called. "We have heard much about the Archenlandian soldiery, but never seen it."

"By all means, then!" he cried. "Do come up! I shall give you a tour personally."

Enna and Aramir looked at each other for a moment before accepting this generous offer and climbing carefully up the rather precipitous steps. The knight had removed his helmet by the time they reached the head of the wall, showing that it was indeed Lord Endrit, his face pink from the heat of the armor. "I must admit, we did not think to come with anyone who knew the ropes," Enna said with a rather nervous laugh. "Rather good luck you were here, wasn't it?"

Endrit dismounted with a clang, his horse shaking its great dappled head. "Aye. But better I than anyone else!" He bowed low. "If it please you, of course."

"Of course," Enna said uncomfortably, as the soldiers at their posts eyed her curiously.

Endrit motioned to the opposite side of the walkway. "If you are afraid of heights, Your Majesty, I would not suggest gazing out upon the prospect. But if you are not, then I highly recommend it."

Enna smiled at him and went right to the edge—it was a straight drop-off to the ground several hundred feet away, but the view…oh, the view! It quite literally took her breath away. The hills were rolling and green, dappled with sunlight as white clouds drifted across the bright blue sky; a few trees dotted the meadows here and there, and the winding Archen River cut a silvery swath through the lush leas. Aramir tarried behind her, but she took his hand and forced him to the edge of the wall; his grip tightened suddenly and almost painfully around her fingers as he saw their rather dramatic elevation, but soon he relaxed a tad and let out an appreciative breath.

"'Tis very lovely, indeed," Enna said at last.

"I am glad it pleases you, Your Highness."

"Oh, it does, my dear Lord Endrit! I almost hate to look away. But, if it doesn't inconvenience you, I _would_ like to see some of the men."

"Of course, of course!" Endrit bowed again. "This is my command for the time being, if you will kindly look around."

Enna did. There were men stationed every few feet at the far side of the walls, tall spears in hand, and as she looked around at the rest of the city, she saw the glint of armor that indicated the presence of even more soldiers. "You guard the city of Anvard, you mean."

"Aye. In a word."

"Well, that _is_ an important job, indeed," she noted.

Endrit chuckled lightly.

"What?" Enna asked, feeling a bit insulted.

"Oh, Your Majesty, it is nothing but a bit of tedium I am suffering from lately."

"Why? Are you not content here?" As she spoke, Enna remembered what she had been told about Endrit—a great tactician, among other things. "Ah. I think I understand. Forgive my conjecturing, but I believe you'd prefer to be out in the field, than here?"

Endrit bowed slightly. "Your Majesty is correct. I…have a rather bad habit of restlessness."

"I empathize with you, believe me," Enna said softly, looking out at the countryside again.

"If you will excuse the interruption," Aramir put in just then.

Enna and Endrit looked at him. "Aye?"

He shook his head with an incredulous laugh. "This may sound rather presumptuous and irrelevant, and I apologize, but…Your Majesty and my lord bear a…remarkable resemblance. I cannot rid my mind of it."

Enna looked at Endrit with a light chuckle. "Really, Aramir, you must be imagining things."

Endrit shrugged, twisting his mouth. "Perhaps not as much as you might think, Your Majesty. You do remind me of myself, if you'll forgive the informality."

"Well, I—I—" Enna spluttered, quite unsure of what to say, or even to think.

"There, there. Don't trouble yourself about it. It's hardly worth the trouble. But—" Endrit clapped his gauntleted hands together. "It would please me greatly if Your Majesty and Sir Aramir would join me for luncheon at my home. You must meet my father and wife."

"Luncheon?" Aramir asked.

"Aye—'tis high noon."

Enna looked at Aramir in astonishment. They had walked and talked all morning! She was about to decline Endrit's offer as politely as she could, but then she realized that she was suddenly quite famished and the idea of the cheese in Aramir's satchel was not all that appealing any more. "I think…that would be delightful. It is wonderful of you to invite us."

"Excellent!" Endrit clapped again and took his horse's reins. "Then, you shall follow me there. It is but a block away. You do not mind, of course?"

"Of course. Lead away!"

He nodded, grinning, and bowed once, then twice, and handed off his horse to a nearby soldier before clattering down the stairs. Enna and Aramir followed him, their footsteps scarcely as noisy as his.

"He seems a most willing fellow," Aramir noted quietly as Endrit clanged into the street, beckoning for them to follow.

Enna smiled. "Indeed! But, he intends to feed us. How can I argue with that?"

Aramir laughed and offered a hand to her as they stepped off the steps and down into the cobbled streets. "Well spoken, madam."

She tossed her plait at him and followed Endrit down the street—he went mighty quickly for a man in full armor. His strides were so long and purposeful that even Enna, tall as she was, had to skip every other step to keep up, much to her other companion's amusement. But soon enough they came to the large cityhouse, and a chamberlain met them at the foot of the stone steps.

"Inform the kitchen that we shall have guests for luncheon, please," Endrit said to him. "Her Majesty Queen Enna of Narnia, and Sir Aramir Ealion."

"Very good, sir," said the man, bowing deeply to his master and then to Enna and Aramir.

"Oh, and…fetch Caliburn for me," Endrit went on. "I…er, require assistance with my armor."

"As you say, sir."

"Caliburn is my page," Endrit explained as they followed the chamberlain into the house. "You, there! Fetch his lordship Bodmor and inform him that we have guests. Also…rouse my wife and bring her here."

_Lady Roscommon!_ Enna bit her lip in quick thought. Here, she would have the opportunity to judge for herself the quality of this infamous woman's character.

Endrit's young page, a small blonde boy, came into the atrium quickly enough and followed his master into another room, where a distant clanking marked the clumsy removal of armor. Now alone save for some servants standing by respectfully, Enna and Aramir gazed at their surroundings. It was a large, well-decorated house, as far as they could see, the foyer lit by enormous windows set into the ceiling. A number of doors lined the long corridor, and great blossoming flowers in ancient stone vases poured out onto the marble floor. Tapestries hung on the walls between doors.

Soon enough, Endrit reappeared, clothed in as rich a tunic as Aramir's was simple. He was beaming broadly, his arms spread out, as he came towards them. "Welcome to my home away from home. And ah! Here comes my wife."

Enna looked quickly in the direction he indicated. Down the hall, stepping lightly and softly, came a tall, thin woman in a richly ornamented but rather drab gown, her dark hair pulled back under one of those wafty head kerchiefs that Enna so despised. Her face was solemn, but severe and angular with age and hardship, and her cheeks were rouged a bit too heavily.

"My dear, this is Her Majesty, Queen Enna of Narnia. Your Highness, please to meet my wife, Lady Reselda."

Lady Roscommon curtsied deeply and kissed the back of Enna's hand, her deep-set and inky eyes fixed upon her face. "It is an honor, Your Majesty."

"The honor is mine, Lady Roscommon," Enna replied, copying the curtsy. "Your husband is very kind to invite us to dine with you." _She looks so tragic._

Lady Roscommon curtsied again.

"And this," said Endrit, "is Sir Aramir Ealion, a knight of Narnia."

Lady Roscommon curtsied before him. "Welcome to our home, sir knight."

Aramir glanced quickly at Enna before bowing. "We thank you most sincerely for your hospitality."

"And my father should be along shortly," Endrit said, craning his neck to look down the hall. "Ah! Here he is."

Enna chanced a smile at Lady Roscommon as Endrit and Aramir were preoccupied with Lord Bodmor's approach, and the woman's face softened just for an instant, but then she curtsied again and the harsh, sad look was back.

Lord Bodmor was a rather short man, compared to his son, and his face, though similar to Endrit's, had lost much of its attractiveness with age. Yet, he still walked with pride in his step, and his beard was trimmed in a neat ducktail manner; his eyes, a piercing hazel, scanned his surroundings with a calculating gaze—that is, until he took one look at Enna and Aramir, clutched at his chest, and toppled to the ground, grabbing at a nearby plinth for support but only succeeding in knocking both it and the vase it held to the ground. The glass urn shattered dramatically on the marble tiles, and shards of it scattered for several feet across the floor and onto his tunic and doublet.

"Father!" Endrit cried.

Everyone rushed to the fallen man's side. Lady Roscommon brushed the glass carefully from his chest and Endrit lifted Bodmor's head, his face just as ashen as his father's.

"I'll call for water," Enna said, straightening, but Bodmor's eyes suddenly flew open and he clutched at her skirts.

"Wait"—his voice was strained and urgent—"wait. What is your name? Tell me your name!"

Enna looked concernedly at Endrit. "Father, she is the queen of Narnia," he began, but Bodmor cut him off.

"I care not what her _title_ is, boy! What is her _name!_"

"I am Enna Pevensie, my lord," Enna said, kneeling by his side again. "My name is Enna."

Everyone thought Lord Bodmor would faint again, but he rallied enough to say in an even more haggard voice, "And you are Narnian?"

"Nay, milord," Enna said gently. "I am Galmanian, by blood and birth."

Bodmor closed his eyes and gripped Endrit's tunic. "What was your virgin name? When you lived in Galma?"

"S…Stalresin, milord. I was Enna Stalresin, then."

"Perhaps you ought to lie down in your chambers, Father," Endrit began, but Bodmor waved a hand at him.

"Tell me, lass," he whispered. "Was your mother's name…Ilsta?"

Enna sat back, thunderstruck. "Aye, it was, indeed! My lord, how did you know?"

He didn't answer. He and Endrit were staring at her, identical hazel eyes wide, their faces ashy and mouths partly open. "What is it?" she asked. "Have I done something to displease?"

"My mother's name was Ilsta, as well," Endrit said at last.

"Well, that _is_ a coincidence," Enna replied. "But I fail to see the significance…"

"Is she still alive?" Bodmor interrupted, struggling to sit up.

Enna bit her lip. "No, my lord. She is not."

The man's wrinkled face sobered momentarily, but then he pushed Endrit and Aramir aside and floundered to his feet. "Someone clean this mess up," he said to the servants that were hanging by, wringing their hands. To Enna and Endrit, he said, "You must follow me."

Enna looked quickly at Aramir for encouragement, and he nodded to her. "What of luncheon, milord?"

"That can wait. This, however, cannot—I have waited much, much too long…come."

He beckoned to be followed, and led them down the long corridor. Enna looked over her shoulder at Lady Roscommon and Aramir, and after a moment had passed, they also followed. Bodmor eventually opened a door and led them down yet another hall, also well lit and pocked with doorways. Left into another corridor, right into a large library, and right again into a tiny, dim room. Endrit looked around, his eyes wide, as Bodmor lit a candle and set it on a ledge.

"Father, what is this about?" he asked. "You have never let me into this room before."

"For good reason, my son," was the response. "Now, behold."

There was a footstep, and then, suddenly, Bodmor was drawing aside a tall, moth-eaten curtain, behind which was an equally tall, yet faded, portrait. The flickering candle lit up only a small portion of the painting, but Bodmor took it up again and lifted it high. Enna stifled a gasp. The woman, staring proudly out of the aged canvas, was unmistakably familiar—it was her mother. Golden hair flowed over one white shoulder, a speckled hound sat at her foot with an adoring, placid look on its canine face, and, looming over the scene in the far left corner, was undoubtedly a much younger Lord Bodmor Roscommon, a bejeweled hand resting possessively atop the back of Ilsta Stalresin's chair.

"How do you know my mother?" Enna asked, but at the same time, Endrit said in an accusatory tone:

"Why are you showing a stranger a portrait of my mother that even _I_ have not seen?"

They looked at each other, aghast. "That is _my_ mother!" Enna said loudly, her voice ringing in the small but high-ceilinged room. "How dare you claim her as your own!"

"I do not claim her!" Endrit cried. "She _is_ my own mother!"

"Your mother died," Enna retorted cruelly, her misgivings clawing at her insides. _"My_ mother was alive, up to a mere few months ago!"

"She did not die."

This voice was Lord Bodmor's. He was sagged against the wall, the hem of the velvety curtain crushed in his hand.

"What do you mean, Father?" Endrit said after a pause. "She died after I was born."

Bodmor looked at his feet. "No, my son. She did not."

"She…didn't die?"

"No."

"Then…what happened to her?"

With a clang, Bodmor shoved the heavy curtain across the painting again, hiding the woman's face. "She…she…here. Perhaps we ought to retire to a brighter room."

"I demand to know what is going on, Father," Endrit said loudly as Bodmor moved between him and Enna on his way out the door.

"All in due time, my son," Bodmor sighed. Aramir and Lady Roscommon were waiting politely in the library, and he spared them a nervous glance.

"Anything you must say to me, you may say to my wife," Endrit added.

Bodmor motioned for everyone to sit across from his great oaken desk. He lowered himself to his own chair, but then quickly sat up and began pacing.

"I suggest you state your purpose, Father," Endrit warned. "You forget, you are a guest in my house."

"Under my will," Bodmor muttered.

"Come, Father!"

"Very well, very well." Bodmor leaned against the desk, poured himself a snifter of brandy from a crystal tumbler, drank it quickly, and sighed. "Your mother did not die, my son."

"As you have aforesaid. What happened to her? Why haven't you told me?"

"Your mother was once very beautiful, and very sought after," Bodmor said slowly. "I…paid a large dowry, did much to secure her as my bride. We wed, she became pregnant, and then…"

"And then?" Endrit pressed.

Bodmor poured himself more brandy. "A merchant came to Roscommon Castle from Galma on business with me. He was young, swarthy, and handsome, much younger than I and closer to your mother's age. They grew close, and I thought nothing of it. That is, until…well, perhaps I get ahead of myself. Your mother birthed twins, Endrit. Yourself and an identical girl child."

Endrit looked at Enna, who stared back in utter dismay.

"Soon after the birth, your mother—" Bodmor drank more of the brandy. "One night, she packed her things, took our daughter, leaving you here, and ran off with the merchant. I never heard from her again. And I shall never, ever forget the varlet that seduced her so. His name was Vatorian Stalresin, a rogue, a villain."

Enna's heart stopped, and she took a deep breath, for it felt as though she were drowning.

"The girl child we had named Enna, and she was five minutes your junior," Bodmor told Endrit.

"That is impossible!" Enna cried, leaping to her feet. "Impossible! My—my name is not Enna. It is Enwynna! I am from Galma!"

"Enwynna is Galmanian," said Bodmor, flatly. "But Enna is a very Archenlandian name, my dear."

"I am Galmanian," Enna repeated. "My father was Galmanian, and my mother was Galmanian!"

"Awfully fair, for a Galmanian lass," he replied. "Haven't you ever wondered why your skin was whiter than others'? Why your mother was flaxen haired, while others had hair like ravens? She was the purest Archenlander I had ever met."

"Then why is my hair not fair, like hers?" Enna challenged.

Bodmor came around the desk and stood in front of Enna, his hands clasped over his chest. "It is from me, my dear. I have faint Western blood, and it manifests itself in my children. Look, lass, at Endrit. You are mirror images of each other."

They stared at each other.

"Bring a mirror!" Endrit bellowed. A moment passed, and then a servant scurried in with a small mirror in hand. He took it quickly and held it out, and he and Enna looked into it. Identically startled hazel eyes stared back, out of lightly freckled faces with long noses and auburn hair.

Enna staggered back a step.

"I saw the likeness of your mother in your face the moment I laid eyes on you," Bodmor said quietly. "I had quite determined to forget about her and you, but…I could not. And then I met you…"

"So…" Enna said, slowly, reeling from the realization that her mother was an adulteress, her former father a rogue, and her whole miserable life a completely avoidable accident. "I am not Galmanian, then?"

"You've got not a lick of Galma in your veins, my dear," Bodmor said firmly. "You are an Archenlander, through and through."

_Not a lick of Galma. Not a lick of Galma. Not a lick of Galma!_ She put a hand to her mouth.

Immediately, Aramir stood up. "Please, we must beg you to give the queen a moment."

"Of course," said Lord Bodmor, bowing. "Quite understandable. Come, Endrit, my dear Lady Reselda."

Dazed, Endrit followed Bodmor from the room, and only Lady Reselda remembered to curtsy before leaving and shutting the door behind her.

The moment she heard the thud of the lock, Enna sputtered out a nonsense word and fell into Aramir's arms. He held her tightly, and she felt her shoulders begin to shake—but it wasn't tears that caused it, or at least for the most part. A laugh was bubbling up from somewhere deep inside her, and she hid her face in Aramir's shoulder, fighting the urge to let it out.

He patted her back in a soothing manner, and said, "'Tis quite a shock, isn't it?"

Enna could not hold it in anymore, and she burst out laughing. "A shock! A shock! Oh, it is indeed a shock! But, Aramir! Do you realize what this means? _I am not Galmanian_! Sabsestrin is _not my uncle_!"

She shoved a hand over her mouth to stifle the mad giggles that were spouting forth. "Not Galmanian! Oh! My real father is a lord! _A lord!_ And I have a brother, Aramir! And a nephew, can you imagine? I am Archenlandian!"

Aramir was watching her with a blank look on his face, as though he didn't quite know what to think. "So you…"

"Feel very bad about the whole thing?" she answered. "Oh, aye, of course. I cannot believe my parents would do such a despicable thing—my mother, leaving her only son! And I do pity Bodmor and Endrit. And _oh_, it wrenches my stomach to think that if only my mother had stayed in Archenland, I would not have ever known the things I have known."

Enna took Aramir's calloused hands in hers. "But Aramir…I _am_ thrilled, in an odd way. I feel as though I am a bit disloyal to my dear old father, who loved me as his own…but, Aramir, he is dead. There is naught I can do for a memory!"

"I am happy for you, indeed, I am," Aramir replied with a grin. "Imagine the others' faces when they learn of this!"

"Oh, aye!" Enna laughed again. "Now, come. I wish to speak with my brother and father. Oh, how well that sounds! Enna Roscommon Pevensie!"

"Enna Roscommon _Stalresin Aldenthew_ Pevensie," Aramir corrected with a wink.

She returned the wink and beckoned him to the door. Bodmor, Endrit, and Lady Roscommon were nearby, and they looked up when Enna and Aramir came out into the corridor.

Bodmor bit his lip at her approach, but then he held out his hand, and Enna shook it heartily. "I have never raised a daughter, you know," he said, looking a bit bashful. "I'm afraid I'll be a poor excuse for a father."

"Well, I have had a father, of sorts," she replied kindly. "I'll teach you what to do."

His wrinkled face lit up, and Enna noticed then that he, too, had faint freckles splashed over his nose. "Aye. That would be lovely."

Endrit was biting his lip, but apparently, he too had come to grips with the whole situation, and he also offered his hand. "You'll forgive me for the frankness, Your Majesty, but I have…always felt as though I was missing part of me. But now I know I have a sister—a twin sister, nonetheless!—it's as though…well, I won't descend to sentimentality and say I feel complete again, but the sensation is similar."

Enna smiled and took his hand with both of hers. "I am happy to have a brother, Endrit. It did feel very strange to be an only child, after my sister—she'd be your half-sister, I expect—died. But you know, now that I am family, you must not ever call me 'Majesty' again. I am Enna."

Endrit returned the smile. "Well then, Enna. You must call my wife Reselda."

"If she doesn't mind," Enna replied, curtsying to Lady Roscommon.

"Hardly," Lady Roscommon replied.

Shyly, the two women embraced and placed sisterly kisses on each other's cheeks. Enna smelled cheap perfume as she was so near the other woman, but she refused to make any judgments on her before it was right to do so.

"Excellent! Most wonderful!" Bodmor clapped his hands together, beaming. "Let us finally have that luncheon, eh? I can't speak for anyone else, but I am absolutely _famished._"

--

_A/N2: Aha! A plot twist! :D_

_Anyway, as for how I think of Aramir. I think of him as tall, of medium-ish complexion, with very dark and unruly hair. He is, of course, very freckly, with strong limbs and broad shoulders. His eyes are a dark grey color and very expressive, "doelike," and he has an easy grin and a boyish face. In other words, as a sort of younger, frecklier, mop-haired, clean-shaven Hugh Dancy (Prince Char from "Ella Enchanted", the Earl of Essex from "Elizabeth I"). Kind of. :S_

_PS: As for Endrit's feeling like a part of him was missing. Such a sensation is called Vanishing Twin Syndrome, and it is a documented phenomenon. It's usually experienced by individuals whose twins died during pregnancy, but it's not hard to imagine having the same sensations when one's twin was taken away at a very young age._

_This kind of incident is hardly scientific, of course, so don't quote me on it. ;) _


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

After a wonderful luncheon of veal and tripe stuffed with tender Archenlandian vegetables, Endrit insisted on giving Enna and Aramir a tour of his house. It was very large, indeed, especially for a cityhouse, but he spoke of it in a humble way, making sure they understood that it, along with all of the things inside of it, were early inheritances from Bodmor, as he had been the sole heir for nineteen years, and all of Bodmor's estate was entailed away to him.

"He has no use for it, anymore," Endrit had explained, "and I, with a wife and child, _do_. I will, of course, make the imperative arrangements, Enna, to make sure you get your fair share."

"Oh, that's hardly necessary, as I am _queen_!" she'd protested, but Endrit would have none of it. She could not legally inherit any of Bodmor's things, but he would make sure the estate would pass to her or her children if he and Reselda or his son died before the child's eighteen birthday.

"My lord," interrupted Lady Reselda at this point. "Perhaps you ought to _show_ your sister her nephew."

And so the five found themselves in the nursery. The bright room was at the top of a tower set into the wall of the city; the wide windows gazed out onto the green forest blanketing the side of the mountain Anvard was built into. Its stone walls were painted a pretty primrose color, and the whole chamber was just the kind of place Enna could see raising a child in.

Endrit smiled at the nurse as she handed him the baby, and Enna let out a very girlish gasp of appreciation, much to Aramir's amusement. Little Erec was the sweetest little thing she had ever seen, human or no! His eyes were a dark blue, as most babies' are, and he was quite bald, but his face had such personality; he stared up at her out of his father's arms with an expression that was quite clearly perplexed.

"He's lovely," Enna cooed.

Lady Roscommon, standing to the side, curtsied.

"Would you like to hold him?" Endrit offered?

Before she could decide, he was handing her the little bundle, and the next thing she knew she had a squirming bundle of warmth clutched in her arms. Little Erec squinted at her and batted at her hand as she adjusted his blanket. "We named him after our great-great-grandfather," Endrit said. "Erec, brother of Er, third cousin by marriage of the king's second-favorite advisor."

"Impressive, sir," said Aramir mildly.

Enna bounced Erec in her arms, and the baby's arms waved in time with the rhythm. "He has quite the name to live up to, then, doesn't he? He must marry into political royalty!"

Just then, as if he understood the meaning of her words, Erec's little bottom lip quivered and he began to wail. Endrit laughed, Bodmor left the room, the nurse startled, and Lady Roscommon grimaced. Enna quickly tried to soothe him with nonsense sounds, like she remembered Laeia's nurse doing back in Galma, but Erec only began to cry harder, little translucent tears dribbling down his pink cheeks. "I'm sorry—" Enna stammered, and put the baby in Aramir's arms.

The nurse and Lady Roscommon stepped forward, but Aramir bent his dark head over the bundle in his arms and began to sing, in a low tenor that could easily bellow out sung orders on a ship, a tune that Enna swore she'd heard before:

_"In Archenland there lived a maid—_

_Mark well what I do say—_

_In Archenland there lived a maid, _

_And she was mistress of her trade. _

_I'll go no more a-roving with thee, fair maid._

_A-roving, a-roving, since roving's been my roo-aye-inn,_

_I'll go no more a-roving with thee, fair maid."_

"Really, Aramir," Enna scolded him, but only slightly disapproving, "singing sea shanties to an infant?"

"Laugh if you will," he replied. "The lad has stopped his crying."

But just as he spoke, and thus stopped singing, Erec's little fists balled up and he began to whimper again. Laughing, Aramir tucked the little blanket under the baby's chin and returned to the song:

_"I placed mine arm around her waist—_

_Mark well what I do say—_

_I placed mine arm around her waist,_

_Cried she, 'Young man, you're in great haste.'_

_I'll go no more a-roving with thee, fair maid._

_A-roving, a-roving, since roving's been my roo-aye-inn,_

_I'll go no more a-roving with thee, fair maid."_

Erec's tears dried a little, and he watched Aramir with big eyes.

_"I took that maid upon my knee—_

_Mark well what I do say—_

_I took that maid upon my knee,_

_Cried she, 'Young man, you're much too free.'_

_I'll go no more a-roving with thee, fair maid._

_A-roving, a-roving, since roving's been my roo-aye-inn,_

_I'll go no more a-roving with thee, fair maid."_

"I thought he was a knight," Lady Roscommon said quietly to Enna.

"Oh, he is," Enna replied. "But he was a sailor for many years before that."

"Ah. And…how old is he, exactly?"

"Nearly one and twenty."

"I see."

_"I took her hand within mine own—_

_Mark well what I do say—_

_I took her hand within mine own,_

_And said 'I'm bound for my old home.'_

_I'll go no more a-roving with thee, fair maid._

_A-roving, a-roving, since roving's been my roo-aye-inn,_

_I'll go no more a-roving with thee, fair maid."_

Erec gave a little hiccoughing sigh, his eyelids flickered, and he drifted off to sleep. Aramir, clearly pleased with his success, carefully handed the baby to the nurse, who set him gently in the fine crib by the windows. "Wonderful work, sir," Endrit said, clasping his hand. "Now that he's settled down for his nap, I might show you and my sister _my_ study. I'm an avid hunter, you know, and I have the records of all my quarries. You're interested, of course?"

"Of course," said Aramir.

"Enna?"

Enna looked at Lady Roscommon, who curtsied again, and then back at her brother. "I think I'd like to stay here for a time, if you don't mind. It is so peaceful."

"As you wish," Endrit said. "We'll only be a moment. Come along, my good sir, and let me tell you about the time I cornered a twelve-point stag in these very woods…"

He shut the door behind them, and Lady Roscommon smiled shyly at Enna. "Please, milady," she said, pointing towards one of the rocking chairs, "sit. You may leave us, Gilda."

The nurse curtsied and quietly left the room. Lady Roscommon went to the window, her dark skirts rustling almost loudly, and unlatched the two panes. When she pushed them open, a gentle, warm breeze sighed in, playing with the dangling mobiles above his crib, tinkling them softly. "How long have you been at Anvard?" she asked.

"Only a day or so," Enna answered.

"Then you must have heard."

"Heard what?" Enna asked, though she knew very well what Reselda was referring to.

"About my less-than-savory past." The older woman adjusted the filmy curtains. "It does not take long for newcomers to learn of it."

"Oh, I never knew…" Enna lied.

Reselda looked wryly at her. "I may have been a working girl, milady, but I am no fool. You must have known."

Enna bit her lip and played with the ragged end of her plait. "Well, now that you mention it, I might've heard a word or two."

"As I thought."

"But you seem to have made my brother a happy father."

"Aye. I did try so very hard to do so. He is a very good man, milady. You are lucky, indeed, to have him as a brother."

"He seems very kind."

Reselda did not seem to want to sit down; she first went to one corner of the room to fix some toys that were misplaced, then to another to dust a shelf with her fingers. "That is what struck me when I first met him."

The question had been bearing down on Enna's mind since she had heard the rumor that Lady Roscommon was a harlot. "I hope you will not mind me asking, madam," she said hesitantly. "But, I hope you will allow me to ask…how…how did you meet him, exactly?"

"Oh, isn't that always the question," Reselda answered cynically.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offe—"

"No, no, it's quite all right. I suppose I ought to tell you, seeing as how you're my sister-in-law."

"If you don't want to, I will not be hurt."

Reselda sighed and finally sat down, her skirts puffing out in disarray—it was clear she did not enjoy ladyship much. "I've never told anyone in Anvard. I have always figured 'twas none of their business to know. But I'll tell you." She turned a calculating eye on Enna. "You seem artless enough."

Unsure as whether to take this as a compliment or not, Enna folded her hands in her lap and focused on looking understanding.

"But in return, I expect to get a story from you, as well."

"Done."

"Very well." Reselda leaned against the windowsill and gazed out of it, her dark eyes growing distant. "I had worked in Pittenween, plying my trade for sailors and soldiers that took shore leave or marched through, since I was thirteen. I was 34 when I met milord. I had finished ministering to one of his men in camp outside the town, see—this was when he was still a second lieutenant, he was promoted to full lieutenant on the same campaign—when I ran into him and the current captain between tents on my way back to town.

"Officers have been known to put trollops who venture into camp to death. The captain wanted to have me punished, but Endrit stepped in on my behalf." Reselda stopped at this point and sighed, her sallow face flushing a bit unhealthily. "I still don't quite know why he did such a thing. And so young then, too! Merely seventeen. I offered to…repay him richly for his efforts, you know, but he refused, and told me that I ought to save myself from the eventual painful demise of trollops before it was too late. _I_ told him I had nowhere to go, and _he_ said I could come home with him. So he married me and made me a lady."

Enna tilted her head, absorbing the story. "He is very selfless, it is obvious."

"Aye," Reselda sighed. "I am very happy with him. But I am much happier at Roscommon."

"I've heard it is a beautiful castle."

"Oh, of course it is. But that is hardly why I prefer it to Anvard."

"If you don't mind, why do you prefer it, then?"

Reselda stood again and went by Erec's crib, gazing in on the sleeping babe. "It's because I am not welcome here in Anvardian society. I do not blame them—I am impure, and my habits are still rough and I do not act as a lady should."

"Oh, don't be so hard on yourself," Enna protested.

Smiling slightly, Reselda smoothed the front of her dark dress. "I don't know what I should do if Endrit dies in battle. I am accepted in Anvard because of him and Lord Bodmor, not on any merit of my own—if he dies, I will be worse off then I was in Pittenween. I would rather die."

"Well, you have a queen as a sister-in-law now," Enna said firmly, determined to put a genuinely happy look on the somber-looking woman's face. "If nothing else, you are always welcome to come and live in Cair Paravel. You have my word."

Reselda did not smile. "Begging your pardon, milady, but I should hardly be looked any kinder upon in Narnia."

Enna bit her lip, but before she could say anything, Reselda turned to her. "And now, I would also like a story."

"Oh, I had nearly forgotten. What would you like to know?"

Reselda looked at her out of the corner of her dark eye. "How you, a presumed Galmanian, came to be queen of Narnia. And, begging your pardon if the question is too fresh, but…what your connection to Sir Aramir is."

"No, it's not too fresh. Rather connected to the previous question, actually." Enna drew a deep breath—the memories of all that had passed still ached in her heart, but it couldn't have been easy for Reselda to tell _her_ story. "Very well.

"When I was young, my supposed father died and his brother married my mother to dispense of the estate. But he turned out to be the villainous dog there ever was. I managed to escape about a year ago, and stowed away on the ship that Aramir was a sailor on—the _Seacharger_, I believe, a Galmanian merchant ship bound for the north. But they discovered me aboard and brought me to Narnia for prosecution. The kings and queens took pity on myself, as well as on Aramir, who had been beaten by the ship's captain. They gave us sanctuary there, and then the king fancied himself in love with me."

Enna took another deep breath. "Then, early this year, the Galmanian navy came to the harbor at Cair Paravel and set it alight. It turns out, my supposed uncle had made beneficial connections in the nobility and royalty of the isle, and had been promoted to duke admiral, or something similarly idiotic. He found out I was in Narnia, and was demanding my immediate return to him. Peter—forgive me, His Highness—thought we could negotiate with them, but we woke the next morning to find that they had invaded Narnia."

"Invaded!" Reselda said in shock.

"Aye. We pursued them all the way to the Archen Mountains, engaging them several times (Aramir was made a knight after one of the battles)."

Enna paused here, considering telling Reselda about Aslan, her mother, and her wound, but then she decided against it. "Peter married me sometime after the second engagement, but the Galmanian army fractioned themselves and went separate directions, so we split our own numbers. Peter sent me, Aramir, and his brother and sister here to Anvard to intercede on Narnia's behalf before Galma could."

Reselda stared at her. "Are you saying, then, that Narnia is at war?"

"As is Archenland with us," Enna said with a nod.

"Oh…" She pressed a hand to her cheek. "That means Endrit will be going out for active duty."

Enna's heart stopped—she hadn't thought of that. "Oh, no! Well—have no fear, Reselda. I shall speak to King Lune and make sure he doesn't send Endrit to the front lines. You have my word!"

Reselda suddenly clutched at her hand. "Thank you—thank you dearly, Your Majesty."

"Oh, I'll have none of that, now," Enna said, flustered at Reselda's teary eyes. "I am your sister-in-law! I am Enna to you."

With a watery, half-hearted laugh, Reselda nodded. "Aye, then, _Enna_. I am very grateful."

"He is my brother, and he has an infant son," Enna answered. "I could hardly let him go to fight our war with that knowledge!"

The nursery door opened at this point, and Endrit stuck his head in. "The day is growing old, Enna. The king has sent a summons for me to go to the palace straightaway, and it would be my honor to escort you and Sir Aramir back to your chambers."

"Aye, of course," Enna said, getting up.

"You must come to visit again tomorrow," Reselda said quickly. "You and Sir Aramir both."

Enna nodded. "It would be our pleasure."

Endrit smiled at her, and she stood up. "Tomorrow, then?"

"Aye—tomorrow."

"Goodbye, then."

"Goodbye."

Enna waved, and shut the door behind her; she and Endrit went down the stone staircase together, their steps perfectly aligned with each other's.

"So?" he asked. "Do you like my wife?"

She looked over at him. He looked so familiar, but she knew it was because the same face had stared at her out of mirrors since she could remember. "Aye. I do."

He smiled to himself and offered her his arm. "Wonderful."

Enna accepted, patting his hand, and they went down together into the foyer.


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

_A/N: Sorry for the delay in this new chapter—my brothers have been on a war movie kick lately, and I can never refuse a war movie. XD So we've seen "A Bridge Too Far," "Glory," "Forrest Gump" (although that's not really a war movie), "Band of Brothers," and several others I can't think of off the top of my head. Plus, Document Manager was down for about 24 hours when I wanted to update--this chapter was ready to be uploaded Saturday around noon! :(_

_And one other thing—no, I didn't really write the song Aramir sang last chapter. I based it off of the actual British sea chantey, "A-Roving." There's a link at the bottom of our profile (right above Bunny!) that'll take you to the YouTube movie I made of an actual (well-recorded) version of the tune. :D_

--

Endrit's boots rang on the cobbled streets as he led Enna and Aramir back towards the palace. He strode with purpose, his shoulders back and steps long, even though the three were really just going for a walk, and there was no urgency in returning.

"So," Aramir said in a low voice, bending slightly so Endrit wouldn't hear, "what do you think of this whole business?"

Enna glanced over at him. "I like it. I don't particularly like the fact that my parents—or the man I thought was my father—were knaves and adulterers, but I do _very_ much like knowing I am not Galmanian, that I am not related to Sabsestrin in the least."

"Well, I know that," Aramir replied, "but I was wondering how you felt about the people you really _are_ related to."

"Oh! Well, I wonder about Lord Bodmor—he seems a bit eccentric—but I suppose that's to be expected, him having spent his whole life in the infantry and now being put out to pasture. That would aggravate my sanity a little, too. But he seems _good_. I would certainly like to get to know him.

"And Endrit is a dear, from what I've seen. He reminds me of my mother, before Fath—before Vatorian died: very happy-go-lucky, and pleasant all the time."

"What about Lady Roscommon, and Erec?"

Enna lowered her voice further. "I, for one, am proud to be little Erec's auntie. He is a perfectly adorable baby! And he seemed to like you very much."

Aramir chuckled. "I think I bored him back to sleep, that's all."

"Nonsense," Enna said with a smile.

"Then, what of Lady Roscommon? I'm curious about what you talked about while Endrit was showing me his study."

"She seems a very decent lady," Enna said firmly. "She tries very hard to act tastefully to preserve Endrit's good name, but she does struggle, it seems to me. But she's very kind. I do hope to get to know her better—perhaps, if _I_ accept her company in public, the rest of Anvard will too, and she will be happy."

"Is she not?"

Enna shook her head. "Hardly happy at all. It is no fault of Endrit's—she's very grateful to him, you know, but she has no friends in Anvard, at least none that she spoke of. She prefers Roscommon, because it's so far removed from other people."

"Hm."

"Anyway. Did you find Endrit's study interesting?"

"Oh, quite. He has stuffed game heads on the walls, wouldn't you know?"

"How fascinating!

"Indeed. Oh—look out."

A tabby cat, orange and mischievous-looking, darted out from between two stone houses and scurried across the street, right under Enna and Aramir's feet. Enna tried to avoid stepping on the furry creature, but only ended up tripping over it and landing on the rough stones, her palms and knees throbbing. The cat put its ears back and meowed loudly before leaping to her side, kneading her stomach with its pristine white paws.

"Enna! Are you all right?"

"Aye, Endrit," she said with a grimace, sitting up. The cat continued to run its cheek against her hip and side, unfazed by the movement. "This naughty grimalkin got under my feet, that's all."

Aramir offered his hand, and she took it, standing up stiffly. "He seems quite the friendly fellow."

"Indeed," Endrit said, watching the cat purr and rub against Enna's ankles.

Enna knelt and picked up the creature. It didn't resist, but twitched its tail and closed its eyes in enjoyment. "He is so clean!"

"Aye—this can hardly be a typical alley cat." Endrit scratched it behind its ears, and it opened its deep, golden eyes to look at Enna.

Suddenly, she realized—"Aramir…do you remember last time we found a cat like this?"

Aramir, too, looked at her. "The one who stole your hair string? Aye, I remember. It led us to Galma."

_I was the cat that led you to Galma's encampment. Had I not, they would have crossed the River and taken Beruna…and the war lost. What say you to that?_

"Aslan?" Enna breathed, looking the cat in the eye.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the cat winked. But before Enna could say anything, it meowed suddenly, turned and leapt from her arms, scampering away down the street.

"What was that all about?" Endrit asked in confusion.

"Oh, nothing," Aramir replied. "How far from the palace are we, exactly?"

"About a few minutes' walk. Let's keep going then, shall we?"

Enna looked at Aramir, biting her lip. "Do you think…Aslan meant for this to happen the whole time?"

"Aye. I do."

"It would explain why he let my mother die…so we'd refuse the treaty and make the Galmanians flee south." She covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh, Aramir…"

He grinned down at her. "It's all starting to make sense now, isn't it?"

"Aye," she replied breathlessly, a quick laugh escaping.

Endrit looked around at the sound. "Enna, do you mind if I have a word with you up here?"

"Not at all," she replied, quickening her pace to catch up with him. "What is it?"

"I've been thinking."

"Well, I suppose that's good."

He laughed. "No, that's not what I mean."

"What _do_ you mean, then?"

Endrit folded his hands behind his back, looking down at his feet as he walked. "My father—our father, I beg pardon—is not quite the man he used to be."

"I see."

"There is a reason he appointed me heir and gave me my inheritance so early. He is quite sane, don't fear, but he doesn't trust his memory or how long his wits will last."

Enna bit her lip.

"I worried for a bit, you know," Endrit went on. "If I was to die in battle, who would be the heir of the Roscommon estate? But then I married Reselda and she bore a son, and now that's quite taken care of."

"I don't see the problem, then."

Endrit's lips narrowed. "Aye, but the question persists—who will care for Reselda and Erec? And if something happens to Reselda, as I do constantly fear it might—I worry about her, you realize. She is not quite herself when she's alone."

She looked over at him—he did look worried. "How can I help?"

"Oh, I was _hoping_ you might say that. I know we hardly know each other, and you probably don't feel like a Roscommon just yet, but…as my sister, and my father's daughter, _and_ a woman of means, it would do me a great deal of comfort to know if you'd become the executor of the Roscommon estate if something were to happen to me or Reselda. Just until Erec's eighteenth birthday, of course."

Enna put her hand to her heart. "I'm touched, Endrit, really. But…I doubt I'd be suited to the job. My home will be in Narnia, you know."

Endrit sighed. "I do understand. But, still…"

Smiling, Enna reached over and patted his arm. "I'd be glad to, Endrit. Or at least try. Nothing will happen to you or your wife, anyway." She paused and lowered her voice. "On second thought…do you trust Aramir?"

Endrit glanced over his shoulder. "Well, aye, from what I know."

"He is aiming to remain in Archenland when our business with Galma is finished yet. And he is unmarried, with no family or home here to speak of. Perhaps he would be a better choice. He's very intelligent, and I _know_ he would make a good father for Erec."

"Hm. You make an excellent point, Enna. Aramir, good man, will you come here?"

Aramir took a few long strides and was at Endrit's side. "Aye."

"I have a proposal for you. What would you say to becoming the guardian of my estate if something were to happen to me or my wife?"

Aramir blinked and looked first at Enna, who smiled encouragingly, then at Endrit. "Are you quite serious, my lord?"

"Quite. My sister sings your praises."

"She overestimates me, I assure you."

"I wouldn't be so hasty to judge," Endrit said archly.

Aramir laughed. "Pardon the deviation, but you look _so_ like Enna!"

Endrit and Enna looked at each other and laughed. "We _are_ twins, my friend," Endrit exclaimed, his face reddening with mirth.

Aramir cleared his throat and stopped laughing with an effort. "Right you are, my lord. Now, what were you saying?"

"Right, right," Endrit said, sobering. "Anyway. Your duties would be to protect the Roscommon interests, such as keeping up with debts and income and maintaining the physical houses we own, as well as acting the guardian of my son. That, of course, means education, both moral and scholarly, and of course I'd want Erec paged and eventually knighted. And you'd have to care for my widow—make sure she is comfortable, treat her kindly, keep her safe. You'd live in Roscommon or the cityhouse, of course."

It was obviously difficult for Aramir to take this in. "I don't know, my lord—I'm hardly qualified."

Endrit snorted. "You're older than I, Aramir. Am _I_ qualified? Hardly. Now, what do you say? Aye or nay?"

Enna nodded bracingly.

Aramir took a deep breath. "Well, aye, if you really want me to—"

"Ah! Thank you!" Endrit stopped dead in his tracks and seized Aramir by the hand, shaking it vigorously. "You have taken such a load from my shoulders…"

"I'm glad to be of assistance."

Endrit sighed happily and put one arm around Aramir, the other around Enna. "I shall update my will immediately upon my return. Ah! I feel as light as a bird!"

Enna smiled, thinking of the tabby cat. It, in its larger form, was certainly sitting somewhere nearby, chuckling with satisfaction at its achievement. Things couldn't possibly have worked out anywhere as nicely if Aslan hadn't had his paw in it!


	25. Chapter Twenty Five

_A/N: Look! Two updates in two days! :D_

--

As Enna, Aramir, and Endrit neared the palace, a green and yellow-liveried footman came hurrying down the cobbled streets towards them. "I'm so sorry to bother you, Lord Endrit, but His Majesty King Lune is demanding your presence in his study."

"I see," said Endrit. "Thank you. We will go to him with all haste."

The footman bowed himself away, and Endrit motioned for Enna and Aramir to follow. Quickly, they hurried under the stone arches and across the smooth lawn, giving hasty greetings to those still lounging about in the sun.

"I apologize if we made you late, Endrit," Enna said as their footsteps rang out in the quiet corridors.

"Oh, there's no need for that," he replied. "Rather, it was my fault. Anyway, we're here now. Hold on…" And he opened the door and went in, Enna and Aramir close on his heels.

King Lune was seated behind his desk, his crown sitting askew on his brow, and Edmund and Lucy were slumped in chairs across the mahogany expanse. Upon the other three's entrance, they all stood up, and Lune came around, his hand outstretched. "Lord Endrit! Just the man I was hoping to see. And you have brought back Her Majesty and Sir Aramir! Most excellent!"

Endrit bowed and shook Lune's hand. "They ran into me earlier this morning, sire. You'll never guess what we soon discovered!"

"I'll bet!" Lune laughed. "Tell me!"

"Her Majesty and I are related," Endrit replied, clapping his hands together. "I am her twin brother, to be exact."

Lune's eyes bugged out of his head, and he looked between Endrit and Enna several times. "Why, aye! I see it well!"

"Is it not wonderful?" Enna burst out, rushing to take Lucy's hands in hers. "I am not Galmanian, after all! I'm an _Archenlander!_ My father is a lord, and I have a nephew!"

Lucy's round face lit up, and she squealed, bouncing on her toes. "Oh, Enna, am I _so_ happy for you! This is absolutely tremendous!"

"I am _so_ happy not to be Galmanian," Enna said with a breathless laugh. "It will make things that much easier."

"Speaking of which," Edmund cut in, "we must to business."

"Quite right, quite right," Lune sighed. "Sadly, duty calls. Well, I'm glad you and Sir Aramir are here now, Queen Enna. Sit, sit! And you too, Endrit—this concerns us all."

"Eh...how, exactly, does this concern me, sire?" Endrit asked, drawing up a chair. "Enna and Sir Aramir told me all about the war with Galma over luncheon, but I'm afraid I don't quite understand…"

"Oh, it's not quite a bit more complicated than that now, I'm afraid," Lune said with a grim look, lowering himself down into his chair with a huff and a sigh.

Enna sat up. "Why? What happened?"

"It's very bad," Lucy said as Lune pushed a piece of parchment across the desk. "I can't say it was _completely_ unexpected, but still…"

Enna picked it up and read it, her heart sinking:

_"By order of His Majesty King Tortrigr, son of Ulfarr,_" it read.

_"A Declaration Of War._

_The isle of Terebinthia, once under the Crown of Narnia, hereafter declares Herself Independent and Sovereign. Ergo, She henceforth declares War upon the Crown of Narnia, and all of Narnia's Allies that take up Arms with Her._

_Signed, Tortrigr Rex."_

"It just arrived," Lucy sighed.

Enna looked around at her companions. "Then…" she said, feeling slightly sick and giving the parchment to Aramir, "Terebinthia has joined Galma?"

"Indeed she has." Lune folded his hands. "You understand the gravity of the situation, I hope? Terebinthia's forces are much better on land than Galma's. But you can bet they will send their navy in, as well."

"I understand," Enna replied hollowly. Aramir reached over and put a bracing hand under her elbow.

Lune sighed and folded the paper back up, slipping it into a drawer in his desk. "Thus, we—that is, King Edmund and Queen Lucy, and I—have decided what is to be done."

"I've already sent word to Peter, Enna," Lucy said, taking her hand, "so you _must_ agree."

Enna looked back at Lune for clarification.

"Here is the plan," Lune said obligingly. "Calormen, as much as they hate us and we them, is vital to the success of this war. No word has come from there yet, so there is still hope that they are neutral."

"I follow."

"This is the part that concerns you particularly, Lord Endrit," Lune went on. "We must send ambassadors to Calormen. But you know perfectly well the terrain."

"Aye—harsh and dangerous, indeed."

"Exactly. Therefore, we must ask you to choose one of two options: either take the responsibility of escorting the ambassadors safely to and from Calormen, or accept the position of a field marshal and recommend one of your finest men to be the escort."

_I shall speak to King Lune and make sure he doesn't send Endrit to the front lines._ "Please, Endrit, be the escort," Enna said out loud. "Please."

Endrit looked at her, frowning. "Well, I suppose if you really insist upon it, Enna…I must admit I was hoping for the field command, but I don't wish to distress. I shall accept the post of escort, sire."

"Excellent," Lune said with a loud clap.

"But who are the ambassadors to be?" Enna asked.

Lune leaned forward across the desk, folding his hands once more. "After much discussion, my lady, we decided it would be best if _you_ were."

"Me?" Enna gasped. "But I—I know nothing of diplomacy!"

"You certainly read enough of Lord Dorovan's books on the subject," Edmund noted dryly.

"But that's no excuse for _experience_. I can't be trusted alone with such a burden."

Lucy and Lune laughed, Lucy's light and Lune's deep and jolly. "You shan't be alone, Queen Enna," Lune said with a smile. "Endrit and Sir Aramir shall go with you."

_"I,_ sire?" Aramir asked, just as astonished as Enna had been. "But I—I'm even less qualified than Enna thinks she is!"

"Enna will need protection, company, and moral support," Lucy told him bracingly. "I can think of no one better suited for that than you. Besides—I've seen how persuasive and well-spoken you can be. You've got to give yourself more credit than that."

Aramir bit his lip until it whitened beneath his teeth. "I still—"

"Nevertheless," Edmund broke in. "It has been decided. Enna and Aramir, you may either choose to go, or you shall be ordered to do so. Make your decision."

"Edmund," Lucy scolded. "You're so severe! I'm sure Enna and Aramir will be willing to do the job, once they've thought about it more. You needn't threaten them."

"Thank you, Lucy," Enna said, her pride stinging. "But tell me…what is the _real_ reason you want me to go? It can't be because I've read more diplomacy books than anyone else in Anvard."

Lucy, Edmund and Lune looked at each other.

Her suspicions actualized, Enna folded her arms. "All right, out with it."

Lune leaned forward, his thick fingers stroking his beard. "Very well. I suppose you ought to know, anyway…Galma is moving toward Anvard. If we can get you out of Archenland, it's all the better for everyone—you needn't worry about getting hurt or captured, and we needn't worry about the Galmanians snatching you and running away before we can finish with them."

Enna blinked. "I see."

"Don't be hurt, Enna," Lucy said. "This will help everyone. _And_, we trust you! Besides, you understand the gravity of the situation moreso than anyone else, I wager."

"That's true," Aramir murmured thoughtfully.

Enna sighed, rubbing her cheek with one hand. "All right. I'll do it. But I can't guarantee success."

"You'll do a bang-up job, I'm sure of it," Lucy said confidently.

"This is excellent!" Lune exclaimed. "Now, I think you all should set out for Calormen within the week. It'll take you close to a month to make it to Tashbaan, provided all goes well."

"What should we do when we arrive at—at the city?" Enna asked.

"Tashbaan," Lune corrected.

"Tashbaan."

"Well, announce your presence and get yourself an audience with the Tisroc."

"The Tisroc?"

Aramir leaned over. "The Tisroc is the Calormene emperor."

"Ah."

"And remember, you must always refer to him as 'great and mighty Tisroc, may you live forever.'"

"How odd."

"Quite." Lune nodded. "But! It must be done. As for you, Lord Endrit, I suggest you get on home and prepare for the journey. You must bring your sword, of course, and a shield, though I do not suggest full armor. And pack enough provisions for yourself—you will be given money, but you won't have anywhere to spend it once you reach the desert."

"Aye, sire," Endrit said. "But how am I to know when to leave?"

"A message will be sent to your house."

"Of course. I take my leave now, sire."

"Quite right. Thank you."

"It is my pleasure. Goodbye. Goodbye, Enna, Sir Aramir."

"Goodbye, Endrit," Enna replied. "I shall see you upon the morrow."

He waved to everyone and bowed himself out of the room, and Lune grunted, sitting back in his chair. "He is a wonderfully agreeable lad."

"Aye, he is," Enna said. "I am proud to call him my brother."

Lune smiled at her. "He ought to be proud to call you his sister! Thank you for agreeing to travel to Calormen."

"It's nothing,"

"I suppose we'll see, once we have the results, eh?" Lune said with a laugh. "Now, I think that's all I had to speak to you and Aramir about. Take advantage of the lovely day, why don't you? Go explore my gardens."

"Aye, sire," Enna said. She and Aramir stood and bowed.

"Remember," Lune called as they were about to close the door behind them. "A week! Be preparing yourselves!"


	26. Chapter Twenty Six

It was early in the morning two days later, while Lady Tamlyn, yawing and stretching, was combing out Enna's tangled hair, when there came a tapping at the window.

"I'll see to it," Enna said to Tamlyn. "You just sit down."

"Aye, Your Majesty," Tamlyn replied with a huge yawn, and sat down readily on the chair Enna had just vacated.

Enna shook her head and went to the window, pushing aside the curtains and opening the rain-streaked panes. On the sill stood a shivering crow, its feathers plastered to its body, holding out one thin leg with a scroll tied to it. "Oh!" she said in surprise.

"Message from His Majesty the High King, Your Highness," croaked the crow.

"Have you flown all the way from his camp, then?" Enna asked.

"Indeed, madam. And now I must return, if you'll be so kind to take the message…"

Enna untied the letter and shook the water droplets from it. "Would you like to come in and dry by the fire?"

"Thank you indeed, madam," the crow answered. "But I really must be heading back."

She nodded. "I see. Well, I appreciate you bringing me the letter. Give the other Narnians my greetings."

"I shall. Goodbye, Your Majesty."

"Goodbye, sir crow."

The crow bowed its shiny black head, spread its wings, and took off into the rain once more. Enna watched it go for a moment before shutting the panes again and turning back to the room. Tamlyn had fallen asleep in her chair and was snoring lightly, so Enna took the damp letter and sat on the rug by the fire to read it.

_Dear Enna,_

_I just received Lucy's letter. So you have found that you are not a Stalresin at all, but a Roscommon! I always thought you were too pale-skinned to be a Galmanian. Well, this does simplify things, doesn't it?_

_But, to the point of my letter. Lucy told me you were anxious about being an ambassador to Calormen. Good—you ought to be. They are a fearsome people. However, if you can please their vanities well enough, you'll be perfectly safe. _

_Always call the Tisroc "The great and mighty Tisroc, may he live forever."_

_Only speak when you are spoken to. Let Aramir and Lord Endrit do the talking, for the Calormenes do not look kindly upon women in politics. This will be hard for you indeed, but you must try._

_Cover your face. The Tisroc will not listen to peasants, and rich women in Calormen always veil their faces. If you do so, too, he will be more inclined to listen to you._

_Take plenty of water, both coming and going. If you do not have at least four flasks of it per person going through the desert, __you will die__. Heed my word on this!_

_Make sure to build up a large fire when you camp and keep it burning throughout the night. It will keep the jackals and wild cats away from you while you sleep. On that note, always make sure someone is keeping watch._

_Do not buy fish from the mongers in the city. Their fare is always several days old._

_My Narnians are about a fortnight's march from Anvard if all goes well, perhaps a bit more. I do not expect to see you upon my arrival there._

_Give my regards to Lucy, Edmund, and Aramir._

_Sincerely,_

_Peter._

_Postscript: I have been thinking much on the subject of our marriage, and this time I __have__ remembered Aslan's command! I hope to take some time when you return from Calormen to discuss it with you._

Enna looked up from the letter. "What a postscript," she muttered, and tossed the paper into the fire.

--

Later that same morning, Enna and Tamlyn were walking together along the cool, sunny corridors to breakfast. They were at the open doors that led into the Hall when suddenly, a warm, calloused hand closed over Enna's mouth, muffling a surprised shout, and pulled her unceremoniously back into the corridor. Tamlyn let out a great gasp, as she was already halfway through the doorway, but the same hand grabbed her wrist and tugged her away from the doors.

"Stop struggling," hissed a familiar voice in their ears. "Really! It's just me, Aramir."

Enna finally freed her lips from his hand and said angrily, "Well, you needn't have manhandled me in such an ungentlemanly way."

"I was quite frightened," Tamlyn said in a meek voice.

"Aye, well," Aramir replied in exasperation. "You'd better hope they didn't hear you, Lady Tamlyn, or we're all in trouble."

Tamlyn's face whitened quickly and predictably.

"What are you on about, Aramir?" Enna asked, very irked that she'd been rousted in such a manner.

_"The Galmanians are here,"_ he said in a strained whisper. His grey eyes were urgent.

Enna blinked. "…Who?"

"The Galmanians. They have sent ambassadors—two of them. They are in with King Lune, as we speak, right in there. If you had gone in there, they would have seen you and known you were here in Anvard!"

"So you're telling me that…they don't know we're here?"

Aramir shook his head, pulling her and Tamlyn farther down the hall and away from the banquet hall. "Aye! If they do find out, they'll run off to Sabsestrin and next thing you know we've got the Galmanian _and_ Terebinthian armies at Anvard's gate. Lune's already told the whole palace not to mention you and I are here."

"Did you really need to muffle me, though?" Enna muttered.

"You would have shouted if I hadn't."

Enna gave him as dark a look as she could muster (which was not that dark, all things considered). "I want to see the ambassadors. Just in case."

"Be _very_ careful, Enna," he warned.

"What about me?" Tamlyn asked. "Do _I_ have to hide from the ambassadors?"

Aramir shook his head again. "No. I just pulled you over here because you were about to make a scene."

Tamlyn flushed. "Very well. _I_ shall go to breakfast."

She turned and stalked off, and Enna tiptoed behind her until she caught a glimpse of the ambassadors at the table, engrossed in conversation with a wary-looking King Lune. Sure enough, they were Cronus Nash and Deneb Dabih, two surly-looking Galmanians her father had used to deal with.

"You were right," she informed Aramir, hurrying away from the door. "What do you propose we do?"

"Stay out of sight," he replied. "Lune can't get rid of them without seeming suspicious, so we'll have to lay low until we leave for Calormen."

"But if the ambassadors are at every meal," Enna replied in horror, "how are we to eat?"

Aramir laughed and squeezed her arm. "There are ways of eating without sitting at Lune's table, dear Enna. We shall have to be a little extra careful where we go, that's all."

"Someone ought to send word to Endrit." Enna sighed. "We won't be able to risk going out to see him. And I was just getting so attached to Reselda and Erec!"

"Don't worry," Aramir replied. "We'll manage just fine, you'll see."

Enna sighed once more and looked up at him. "Well, I'd rather it be with you than anyone else."

"Attalass. Now come on, I hear them coming!"

Together, they dashed off down the corridor.

--

_A/N: Okay, that was a lot shorter than I expected, and I apologize. But it's late. Well, at least we got to hear from Peter, eh? :D_


	27. Chapter Twenty Seven

Aramir's idea of lying low and avoiding meeting the Galmanian ambassadors worked out well for a day or two. He and Enna slept late, went to bed early, snuck out to eat whenever they wanted to in the smoky underground kitchens, and generally did things they hadn't been able to do for months.

As enjoyable as this lawlessness was, though, it inevitably came to an end. Enna was walking along a darkened corridor sometime after sundown, restless and itching for a change of scenery and perhaps a pastry from the pantry, when she heard voices coming from an odd recess in the wall. She tiptoed closer: it seemed to be some sort of viewing space, for it had a rusted, slightly transparent screen in front of a large window, which opened onto a well-lit chamber below. Enna looked through the screen and saw that the chamber was actually Lune's throne room, and that he was hosting a discussion with the Galmanians.

Understandably eager to hear what was being said, Enna knelt in front of the screen and squinted through it—she was behind Lune's throne, a few feet above the floor, and she could vaguely see the Galmanians' faces as they knelt before him, and shapes of various courtiers that stood about in the room behind them.

"…But I don't understand the _motivation_, gentlemen," Lune was saying.

Cronus, the burly man on the right, turned his head slightly to look at Deneb, but Enna couldn't see his face or hear his reply. She couldn't get any closer to the screen without touching her face to it, so she took hold of the base and began to shift it ever-so-gently to the side. Bits of rusty steel came off in her palms. _They can't see me…I am in shadow._

On second thought, though, she let go of the screen and pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and tucked one side behind each ear, so the flimsy fabric hid her mouth and nose. At least, if the Galmanians saw her, they wouldn't be able to discern her features. That accomplished, she set to moving the screen again.

However, just as she was about to set it down in its place, the top of the steel frame collided with a stone wall fixture, and the loud clatter reverberated throughout the corridor and chamber below. Enna froze in mortification—but the impact had knocked a good part of the structure loose, and it began tipping forward from her hands and into the chamber.

At almost the same moment the partition crashed to the stone floor of the room, nearly striking Lune's throne, the handkerchief began to slip from behind her ears. Enna grabbed for it in panic, but it was already too late—it fluttered to the ground between her knees, baring her face for all to see. The Galmanians clambered to their feet, pointing at her with startled but triumphant expressions, saying, "Look! She _is_ here! You lied to us, old man!"

Enna didn't wait a split second longer. Putting to use muscles that hadn't been utilized in some time, she leapt up from the ground and began to sprint down the hall, her heart pounding and head spinning. They had to leave. _Now_.

Somewhere along the way, she ran—quite literally—into Aramir, and he let out a sound of strained surprise as he massaged his now-aching stomach. "Enna—what the devil are you doing?"

"We have to leave," she replied shortly, gripping his arms. "Get your things together."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"They saw me. The Galmanians. They know we're here."

The blood drained quickly from Aramir's face, and he turned and began to hurry the way she'd been headed. "I'll get the food and water together. You fill the flasks you have, and send word for Endrit."

"I'll meet you at the stables," Enna agreed. Her hands were beginning to shake, but she clenched them together and ran as fast as she could to her chambers, where she'd kept some of the flasks from their journey.

Tamlyn was already inside, readying Enna's bed for the night, and she turned with alarm at Enna's noisy and dramatic entrance. "Why, Your Majesty, whatever is the matter?"

"You must help me, Tam," Enna replied without preamble, running to the chest at the foot of her bed and throwing things out.

"With what? With what?"

"The Galmanians know Sir Aramir and I are here. We must leave for Calormen at once."

Tamlyn's eyes widened, and she hurried to the wardrobe, tearing Enna's travel dresses from their pegs. "I understand."

Enna finally found, at the very bottom of the chest, her satchel and five of the twelve flasks of water Peter had said they would need. "Put those gowns in here," she said to Tamlyn, throwing her the worn and water-stained bag.

"Are you going to change, Your Majesty?"

"Change? There's hardly time for anything else!"

"Aye."

They worked in fevered silence for a few moments, Enna throwing her soft palace slippers aside and donning her rough doeskin boots instead. Tamlyn finished shoving a woolen blanket into the satchel and gave it back to her, wringing her hands in anxiety.

"What else would you have me do, Majesty?"

Enna looked up at her, knotting the ties of her boots as tight as she could. "Can you run, Tamlyn?"

Tamlyn blinked and swallowed. "Er…not well…"

"I need you to, tonight. Run with all haste to Sir Endrit's home, and explain the situation—make sure he brings _four_ flasks of water. Help him prepare for the journey, and tell him Aramir and I will meet him there. Go!" she added loudly when Tamlyn hesitated.

Tentatively, Tamlyn nodded and hurried from the room. Enna took up her satchel and the five flasks, pulling her cloak from a hook as she ran out, and set out for the back door to the gardens, beads of sweat gathering along her hairline and threatening to drip down her temples. _Aslan…you must help us…_

Outside, the air was cool and the moon large. Enna dropped to her knees by the bubbling stream that ran through the gardens, holding flasks of water in both trembling hands until they were full. She could hear hubbub inside the castle, but no one came tearing out of doors to clap her in irons. _Lune must be waylaying them_, she thought hopefully, the idea quickening her hands.

Once the flasks were full of sloshing water, Enna hoisted them to her shoulders and pinned her cloak over them, the fine blue wool (a gift from Lune when he saw how sad her old one looked) covering her burdens and making her look like a hunchback in a rather comical fashion.

She met Aramir outside the stables. He had changed his boots, as well, and had Arondight strapped at his waist, partly hidden by his cloak. Two horses snorted and pawed at the cobbled courtyard beside him.

"Took you long enough," he hissed, handing her the reins of a dark bay mare.

"I filled five flasks and sent Tamlyn to help Endrit get ready," she replied, hurrying to the horse's side and mounting. There was an odd-shaped lump on her saddle, and she touched it to find her bow and arrows. "I told her we'd meet him at the cityhouse. Do you have your water and supplies?"

Aramir nodded and pointed to the saddlebags his horse bore. "Seven flasks. Are you ready?"

"Aye—ready as I'll ever be. Let's see if we can find our way to Endrit's house in the dark, shall we?"

He snorted and mounted. "Follow me—I think I know the way."

Enna thought about reminding him of the last time she'd let him led the way, but decided to keep her mouth shut and obey. Their horses' hooves rang out on the empty city streets, sounding especially loud in the dark—so loud that Enna feared the noise would be heard in the palace. But no armed Galmanians gave them chase yet, so she pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head and hoped for the best.

Endrit's house was awash in torchlight when they approached it. The chamberlain, clothed in a robe and a night-cap, was holding up a blazing lantern as Tamlyn helped Endrit on with his mail. A maid, similarly sleepy-looking, held out a good number of large flasks, dripping, and an equally large haversack, bulging with goods. Yet another servant held the reins of two saddled horses; Reselda stood on the steps, her eyes glistening.

"What is the meaning of this?" Enna hissed, pointing at the second horse. "Hello, Reselda."

"Hello, Enna."

Tamlyn looked up at her, pale eyes wide and an unfamiliar green cloak about her shoulders. "Please, Your Majesty, let me come along. I am your lady in waiting—I can't let you go without me."

Enna returned the look, though it was less pleading and more incredulous. "Absolutely not, Tam! What would your father say to me if you were killed? Besides, it's hardly anything you're used to."

"I tried to tell her, Enna," Endrit said, his shield clattering as he mounted his horse. "She won't listen."

Enna looked back up at the palace, far away but glimmering with light. "Fine, fine. Do we have enough provisions for her?"

"Indeed, Majesty," Tamlyn replied, her voice nervous but her face excited.

"Then mount! Galma will be after us momentarily."

Tamlyn scurried to her horse and struggled into the saddle, uncomfortably tugging her skirts down as they rode up.

"Let's away, then," Endrit said. "Chamberlain, good friend, douse that lantern. Everyone, go back to bed—I shall return in a few months. Reselda, my dear, don't fret. Kiss Erec for me when he wakes."

"Goodbye, my lord," she said in a faint voice. "Goodbye, Enna, Sir Aramir."

"We'll keep him safe," Enna assured her.

The chamberlain then blew out the lantern, and sudden darkness was a shock to Enna's eyes. But she heard the clip-clop of Endrit's horse, and as her eyes adjusted to the twilight, she urged her horse to follow his and Aramir's. Tamlyn rode alongside of her, much quieter than was normal.

They followed the cobbled city streets to the front gate. A very sleepy guard opened the thick doors a few feet at Endrit's sharp command, and then the horses' hooves thudded onto packed dirt; the rushing of the Archen River grew very loud.

"How shall we cross the river?" Enna hissed.

"Follow me," Endrit replied.

He turned his horse and followed the river; the heavy doors to the city thudded closed behind them, and Enna's heart leapt into her throat.

After a few long, agonizing minutes, they reached a shallow part of the river, choked and hidden by trees but accessible either way. One by one they splashed into the cold water, their horses lacing their ears back and shaking their heads at the pull of the current and bite of the sudden chill. On the hill opposite them were points of yellow light: campfires.

"Are those shepherds?" Aramir asked softly.

Endrit looked at them. "No."

They all shared the same stricken look. Could the Galmanians really be this close to the city, _already_? Their hearts pounding in their ears, they urged their horses through the river and onto the opposite bank, the rushing water slapping at their shins.

"I suggest we avoid coming into contact with these folks," Enna said.

Tamlyn, behind her, let out a sharp gasp. "Look!"

"What?"

"I think…I think they've seen us!"

Enna quickly took stock of their situation—it was obvious they were in a hurry, for Endrit was the only one remotely dressed for travel. They all bore satchels and flasks of water, and Aramir's sword was clearly visible.

Suddenly, she had an idea. "Everyone, give me your things," she hissed. "Quickly!"

Perplexed, they obeyed, and she shifted in the saddle, hooking the flasks on her saddle horn and covering the lumps with her skirts. The satchels she slid up under her top skirt and arranged against her leg and the horse's side. "Tamlyn, quickly, sit sidesaddle. Aramir, hide your sword and slouch a bit. Muss your hair. Endrit, let me ride next to you. We'll tell them we are simply a noble brother and sister with our servants, getting a late start for home."

"Don't speak, then," Endrit said, "or they'll hear your Galmanian accent."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," Enna replied, mimicking the lovely Archenlandian accent Tamlyn bore.

Endrit gaped at her. "Amazing! How did you—"

"Here comes someone," Tamlyn squeaked.

The group froze in alarm. Indeed, a soldier in armor of an unfamiliar pattern, bearing a torch, was walking quickly down the slope towards them. "Peace, everyone," Enna whispered, and sat up straight in the saddle.

"Good e'en to you, good man," Endrit called out to the soldier.

"And a good e'en to you." The man, who spoke in a thick Terebinthian accent, stopped in front of them with his torch high, scanning their faces carefully. "Rather late for a jaunt, don't you think?"

Enna laughed quickly. "Oh, brother mine! The good sir thinks us out for a jaunt. How delightful!"

Endrit, who looked rather uncertain of this whole business, managed a nonchalant laugh, as well. "Aye, sister!"

"You see, good soldier," Enna said with a wide smile, leaning forward and tossing her hair, "my brother and I came to Anvard for a few days. We told our noble parents we would be home today. Well, you should see the parties held! We have been most dreadfully distracted—such good wine, you know—and our parents will be quite displeased if we arrive home tomorrow." She giggled and hiccoughed for good measure. "So that is why we are out so late."

The soldier raised an eyebrow. "I see."

Endrit shook his head. "I must apologize for my sister's behavior, sir—she is rather…how do you say it…sauced."

Enna's cheeks flared with mortification—she hadn't tried to act intoxicated at all, only slightly tipsy—but she giggled again and slipped sideways on the saddle. Tamlyn, her mouth a thin line, came up alongside her and pretended to help her back up.

"Very well," the soldier said. "You ought to get her home, milord. A concoction of two parts chicken's dung and one part warm water'll dry her out right quick, you know."

"Aye, thank you," Endrit replied with a slightly strained smile. "Well, I suppose we'll just be on our way. Come along, sister…"

"Goodbye, good sir soldier," Enna piped, and Tamlyn took the reins from her and began to pull the horse away up the slope.

The soldier shook his head and headed back towards camp. As soon as his back was turned, Enna ducked her head in humiliation and sighed.

"A fantastic job of acting, you know," Aramir whispered to her.

"I feel so foul, now," she replied in a low voice, her face still hot with mortification. "I wish I hadn't needed to do that."

"Well, it certainly worked," said Endrit. "And now we know the Terebinthians are camped outside Anvard. We'll send a message to Lune at first light. But now, we must concentrate on getting as far away from Anvard as we can."

"What about sleeping?" Tamlyn asked. "It's very late."

"We'll sleep later," Aramir told her.

Enna sighed and began to take the hidden articles out and hand them back. "I hope I never have to do that again."

"With all luck, you won't," replied Endrit, buckling his things together securely and gathering his horse's reins. "And now, we ride for Calormen."


	28. Chapter Twenty Eight, Fillers Happen

_A/N: Just a warning to all: I'll be working on a LiveJournal Narnia fic exchange (1000 words or more) these next few months. It's supposed to be Cor/Aravis, and I've never written one of those before, so we'll see how it goes, I guess. :) _

_And one more thing—am I the only one disappointed and rather disgusted that the only Jeeves & Wooster fanfics on this site are slashes? Grr._

_Just kidding, one more thing. I apologize for the brevity but, like the chapter title says, fillers happen. I need a neat transition. Don't worry, no writer's block or dead muse. ;)_

--

The four rode through the night, their eyelids drooping and heads buzzing with lack of sleep. Tamlyn began to cry at one point for want of rest, but Aramir and Endrit had gotten it in their heads together to ride by night and rest by day. "We'll have to do this in the desert, you know, we may as well get used to it now," Endrit had reasoned, much to Tam's horror.

As for Enna, the prospect of long nights and hot, sunny days during which to try and sleep did not appeal much, but at least she and Aramir were more used to such toilsome travel than poor Tam, all her life used to living, eating, sleeping, and breathing in comfort, and never before even ridden a horse astride the saddle like she was now obliged to do.

But there were instances in which each rider forgot their own grievances and minor aches. As they went further and further southward each night, the waxing moon shed bluish light on the charred, blackened remains of what had once been Archenlandian towns. Apparently, the Galmanians hadn't stopped with Ilvernarran, but were burning their way to Calormen, or burned a many-mile swath of Archenland around Anvard.

This only hastened the companions' pace. "We ought to reach the desert in a fortnight, if we get through Aberwood in good time," announced Endrit one night as they rode along.

"Aberwood?" Enna asked.

"Aye—Aberwood Forest."

"And why would we not make good time through it?"

Endrit wrinkled his nose. "Well…it's been said it's a haven for robbers and thieves."

"And is it?"

"Well…"

"Out with it, Endrit."

"Aye, then. Aye. It's supposedly the nest of the nefarious thief lord, Robehod."

"Robbihod?" Enna laughed in surprise. "Hardly scary."

"Not 'Robbihod', dear sister," Endrit replied with a long-suffering sigh. "You're pronouncing it quite quaintly. Robehod. _Ro-be-hod._ The first 'o' is much rounder, and the second syllable more of an 'e' sound."

"Robehod. Are you quite sure he's a nefarious criminal? He still doesn't sound quite vicious enough." Enna sent a laughing look Aramir's way.

"It means 'champion' in the old tongue. But that isn't his only name, you know."

"Well, then, what are the others? Frighten me."

"He is known as Robin Goodfellow. Robert the Hoodlum. Robert Hoad, I believe is his given name. Robyn at the Lee, Robert Hood…I've even once heard him called Robyn Hood. Many names. As a thief, you know, you must have several aliases at your disposal."

"Will we encounter him for certain, then?" Tamlyn asked, her voice trembling.

"I hope not, Lady Tam," Endrit replied. "If we hurry through Aberwood and look as poor as possible, we will be left alone."

Tamlyn shuddered. "He sounds perfectly dreadful. Preying on travelers!"

"He claims to rob only the rich," Endrit said. "Aramir, you might have heard of him before."

"Indeed, I have. It seems as though he wages some sort of holy war against King Lune and his lords."

Enna frowned. "Well, that's certainly not right. Lune has done nothing but good for Archenland, as far as I know."

"Aye, well," sighed Endrit with a stretch, "some don't share your opinion, I fear."

"Perhaps this war will help."

"I'm afraid it will only hurt," Aramir replied.

Enna put her chin out. "Well, I don't intend to let him rob _us_."

Endrit laughed and shook his head. "Intentions are all for the best, dear sister, but rarely do they play out the way they're wanted to."


	29. Chapter Twenty Nine

It was late the next night, or rather relatively early in that day's traveling, when the four riders crested a hill and came across a low valley and then a deep, dark wood.

"Is that Aberwood, then?" Enna asked Endrit.

Her brother nodded and reined his horse in to a halt. "Before we head into the forest, a few precautions."

"Oh, Endrit," Enna sighed. "We'll be fine."

"Nevertheless, as your guide, I must insist."

Aramir gave Enna a chastening look, drawing his own horse in. "Whatever you say, Lord Endrit."

"Let's start by trying to look as little like nobility as we can." He dismounted. "Enna, Aramir, and Lady Tamlyn, I hope you brought a change of clothes. You're rather conspicuous in your palace attire."

"Very well," Enna sighed. Aramir offered her his hand, and she took it as she dismounted.

Tamlyn followed clumsily, and began rummaging about in Enna's satchels before pulling out a long gown. "Will this do, Majesty?" she asked.

"Aye, very well," Enna replied. "Tam, did you bring any clothes?"

The girl blushed and shook her head. "I didn't think about it, Majesty," she said breathlessly.

"It's no matter," Enna said, unpinning her cloak and draping it over her horse's saddle. "Just find one of mine that'll fit you."

Tamlyn stood rooted to her spot.

Enna stared at her as she went around behind the horse to change. "What is it, Tam?"

"I—I couldn't possibly," Tamlyn managed.

"Why not?" she replied. "They'll be a bit long in the arm and skirt, aye, but I am a good deal broader than you, so you needn't worry about the fit."

"It's hardly that."

"Then what is it?" Enna threw off her fine green palace gown, now stained with dust and mud, and put on the more comfortable, nondescript traveling frock.

"I couldn't wear a queen's gown…"

Enna blinked at Tamlyn. "Oh, don't be a silly goose. I do consider you a friend, Tam, and you were very noble in volunteering to come along to Calormen. The least I can do is let you wear one of my frocks so we don't get ourselves robbed and murdered. Now pick one out."

With that neat logic in front of her, it did not take long for Tamlyn to find a suitable gown and change.

Endrit and Aramir were waiting patiently when Enna and Tamlyn stepped out from behind the horse. Aramir had changed, too, and was wearing an Archenlandian tunic of such uncluttered ivory that he seemed to glow in the moonlight. "You might want to hide that fine shirt of yours, Aramir," Enna said lightly, the sight of him dressed so plainly and neatly not unpleasant to her eye. "You look far too nice in it to be a peasant."

Aramir grinned and ducked his head bashfully.

"I have to agree, Aramir," Endrit said. "Rub some earth on yourself, or something."

"Oh, don't," Enna sighed as Aramir reached down to pick up a clod of muddy dirt.

He stopped mid-stoop and looked up at her. "Does this displease you, Enna?"

"I just think it is a waste of a perfectly nice shirt," Enna replied. But really, she wanted Aramir to remain as clean and attractive as he looked at that moment—just him, unburdened by that inconvenient dirt and reminders of war.

"Don't be silly, Enna," Endrit said, jarring her out of her abstraction. "If that rogue Robehod sees how clean Aramir's tunic is, he will certainly conclude we are not peasantry. Now, take off your bow and arrows, and hide them in something. A peasant woman would not carry weapons."

"You are quite the spoilsport sometimes, brother," she grumbled, unbuckling her quiver and rolling it and her bow up in a blanket. Aramir muffled a laugh as he rubbed dust into his shirt.

"Aye, well, being a spoilsport might help us stay alive," he retorted. "Lady Tamlyn, kindly remove your earrings."

Tamlyn wrinkled her nose, but meekly took out the baubles.

"Dirty your sword, as well," Endrit told Aramir. "Robehod might see the gold leaf."

Aramir, who had been so mildly following orders, stood up straight at this, suddenly towering over Endrit. "That, sir, I will not do," he said adamantly.

Endrit blinked. "Why—whyever not, Aramir?" he blustered. "It's a perfectly reasonable request."

Aramir crossed his arms over his chest, his freckled face calm but resolute as he said quite firmly, "I will not soil my scabbard."

"Let him be, Endrit," Enna said.

Endrit, clearly not happy with this refusal of his orders, thinned his lips, but nevertheless nodded sharply. "Very well. But hide it with your cloak, if you will."

Enna smiled. Aramir relaxed, looking pleased, and took his cloak and pinned it neatly at his shoulder, sending her a wink.

"I suppose we ought to make a jab at it now, then," Endrit sighed.

"Better now than later," Enna agreed, and swung up on her horse.

And so, one by one, Enna, Aramir, Tamlyn, and Endrit urged their mounts down into the darkling valley. It was eerily silent, at the bottom of the hill; the slopes at their backs kept out the noise of the wind, and the birds were all asleep. The only sound was that of the forest, the branches and leaves brushing against each other. A worn pathway, wide enough for a four-wheeled cart, stretched into the darkness of the wood.

"You ought to go first," Enna said to Endrit in a low voice, chastened to a whisper by the unsettling darkness of the trees.

He briefly loosened his sword in its (dirty) sheath before nodding quickly, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on the forest. Enna, Aramir, and Tamlyn followed breathlessly, drawing their cloaks closer about themselves.

Soon, the trees swallowed them up. The moonlight that had so brilliantly lit their way while they were in the hills had all but disappeared behind the high, vaulting roof the arching branches made. Tamlyn drove her horse close to Enna's side and clutched at her hand, nearly falling from the saddle as she did so.

"Peace, Tam," Enna whispered, patting the girl's trembling hand while carefully trying to prize her claw-like fingers from her arm.

Aramir, riding ahead of them, brushed his cloak aside and put a hand on Arondight's hilt. Enna hadn't felt frightened, but that understated movement made her feel rather better. As if he had heard her relief, he turned partway in the saddle to smile bracingly at her.

She had just begun to unbend her nerves when, somewhere in front of Endrit, she saw movement. Her gasp was audible, and Endrit and Aramir turned to look at her—just as shadowy figures leapt down from the trees and drew weapons.

Tamlyn let out a prolonged scream, and the horses tossed their heads and whinnied in fright. Aramir and Endrit grabbed for their swords, but someone called out, "Oy, up there! Send a light!"

And golden lamplight flooded the pathway. In front of the little band stood a group of men, all broad-shouldered and armed with staffs and bows. In the middle of the path and surrounded by his men stood a tall young man, his hands fisted at his hips, a rooster feather stuck at a jaunty angle into his cap. As nervous as she was, Enna couldn't help but stare. Was this the infamous Robehod? He hardly seemed the ruthless thief lord Endrit made him out to seem. He and his men were all clothed identically, in rich, bright green tunics and brown leggings, and his fair beard was neatly trimmed to just cover his chin. They looked like sapling trees, themselves.

"Halt!" said the stranger, once the horses had settled down a little bit. This commandment seemed to Enna quite superfluous, as they had already halted, but the man looked at them with an almost amused twist to his mouth. "Who goes there?"

"We are but swains, sire," Endrit said in a boorish accent that made Enna cringe, it was so poorly executed.

But the strangers didn't seem to notice. "At this time of night?" the bearded man asked, one eyebrow raised in a manner of skepticism that was borderline laughing.

"The heat of the day, sir," said Endrit, "is too much for my sisters."

Enna had to bite her tongue to keep from scoffing in disbelief.

"Where are you headed, good swain?" said the bearded man. His men were slowly circling around them, eyeing their horses and clothing. Enna gnawed on her lip and ducked her head, trying to look dull and delicate.

"We are going to the town of Hollycross," Endrit said. "Sir. To buy my sister's wedding dress." He motioned vaguely to Enna and Tamlyn.

"A wedding, you say?" said the stranger. "Well, congratulations. And are you the lucky groom?"

His question was directed at Aramir. "Aye, sir," said Aramir dutifully.

"Brava and felicitations," the stranger crowed. "You'll invite us to the wedding party, of course?"

"Robin does love a wedding," said a tall, burly, yellow-bearded man.

_Robin Goodfellow. Robert the Hoodlum. Robert Hoad. Robyn at the Lee, Robert Hood…I've even once heard him called Robyn Hood_.

Enna's fingers tensed around her reins. So it _was_ that thief, after all.

"Indeed, indeed," said Endrit. "Well, we'd best get on our way, then…"

"Right," Robin said, and stepped aside. "Safe travels."

"Thank you." Endrit, clearly relieved, nudged his horse into motion, and the other three followed behind. Robin and his men watched as they passed, and they were nearly out of their midst when Robin called out,

"Hold."

Enna dragged her horse in much too quickly, and it whinnied.

Robin came alongside her, his keen blue eyes narrowed. "What do you have there, sister?" he asked, pointing up at her throat.

Holding her breath, Enna reached up and felt along her neck, her fingers trembling with anxiety. She could feel the tension from her companion. Dangling at the base of her throat, catching the lamplight, was the seaglass necklace Aramir had given her for Christmas. She quickly tried to tuck it under her cloak, but Robin reached up and caught her wrist in a tight grip.

"You are not a peasant," he hissed, dragging her close. "Your face is much too proud."

"Well, I never—!"

"Aha!"

At his sound of triumph, his men suddenly lunged for the horses, hands grabbing for saddlebags and satchels. "You tried to fool Robin Goodfellow," Robin called out over the din, "but you, like _e-e-e-e-everyone_ else, has failed. Now, we must divest you of your riches. Code of honor, you see."

The burly blond reached up for Enna's satchels, but her bow and arrow were wrapped up among them, and she quickly struck out at his face with the back of her hand. He reeled back, whimpering in pain, clearly unprepared for her resistance. But as he fell away, three more took his place, until Enna felt her possessions slipping from her fingers.

"Please, don't resist," said Robin, sounding quite annoyed. "We'll have to take you captive if you do. And we do not particularly want to do so."

Aramir, next to her, finally wrenched his sword free, and set about slapping hands with the flat of his blade so they released Enna's things.

Robin let out a loud sigh. "Very well. You asked for it. Take them prisoner, yeomen."

The searching hands stopped scrabbling at Enna's things and began instead pulling her from the saddle. Somewhere else, Tam let out a sobbing scream and fell limply into the arms of the rather perturbed yeomen, but Aramir kept slapping at the hands trying to pull Enna down with his sword until somehow it was wrested from his grip.

"So you see, rich nogoodniks," Robin said at last, as they struggled against their bonds and captors, "there's no use resisting Robin Goodfellow." He sighed. "I did try to warn you. Didn't I, John?"

The burly blond nodded emphatically. "That you did, Robin. That you did."

Robin bobbed his own head until the feather in his cap bobbed playfully. "Good. Now, let's take them back, men. We'll decide what to do with them in the morning."

"Aye, Robin," they chorused, and then Enna, Aramir, Endrit, and Tamlyn were dragged off the path and into the dark woods.


	30. Chapter Thirty

_A/N: This chapter is lovingly dedicated to my mother, who got pneumonia and then so generously gave it to the rest of the family. :P So if this chapter isn't my best writing, it's because of all the antibiotics I'm hopped up on. But hey, at least it's on time, right? :D_

--

Enna and the others were dragged unceremoniously through the brambly woods, their horses led along after. Robin, his shoulders thrown back, sauntered along in front of the captors and captives, apparently knowing exactly where he was going and that he wouldn't fall and hurt himself. As for the four prisoners, they tripped and stumbled with practically every step, their arms growing sore and bruised from the tight grip their warders had to keep on them in order to avoid them injuring themselves.

"You're a real brute, Robin Goodfellow," Enna spat, having tripped and fallen to her knees for the umpteenth time. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself."

The man turned partway around, an eyebrow raised. "You are quite the brazen lass, calling me by name when I don't even know yours. What is it?"

"Enna Pevensie," Enna said, and drew herself up in pride. "Queen of Narnia."

"Oho!" Robin let out an uproarious laugh. "A queen! Well, well, well, men, what say you to that?"

They loudly congratulated themselves on their catch.

This was hardly the reaction Enna had been hoping for, and she scowled at her feet.

"You have us all wrong," Endrit said loudly. "We are not who you think we are."

Robin laughed again. "You are the queen's entourage, are you not? Rich noblemen and woman, laden with gold."

"You may search us," Aramir said. "You'll find nothing of great worth."

"We shall see about that," Robin replied with an arch smile.

Enna soon noticed a distant glimmer in the distance. As they drew closer to it, she detected the flicker of firelight; but it was very bright lamplight, for its light shone through the dense foliage. But it was not long before she saw the source of this light: dozens of lamps and torches surrounding and filling a large clearing in the wood. It was hardly just a clearing, however—rather, it seemed like a small town. There were campfires set here and there in the dirt, and several score people gathered around them or climbed up and down rope ladders leading to well-made tree houses. Someone was playing a squeezebox and singing a rollicking ballad, to which a few others were skipping and dancing.

"Aye, this is my command post," Robin said, winking.

The squeezebox stopped. "'Ey, Robin's back!" someone called.

"Indeed, I am," Robin replied loudly. "And what a haul we have made! A queen and her entourage, wouldn't you know!"

A few impressed 'ooohs' made Enna's face heat up, but before she could say anything, Robin nodded to his men, and they loosened their captives' bonds. Enna's hands fell free, and she sullenly rubbed at her wrists where they were chafed red from the restraints.

"Ah, come, come, queenie," Robin said at her dark look, spreading his arms wide. "We mean you no harm."

"Well, I was fooled, indeed," she retorted.

He smirked at her. "Don't be so unpleasant, now. My men and I do not kill our targets. We only rob them—'tisn't fair that all the money in the kingdom is kept by people lucky enough to be born with a certain name in their blood, you know."

Enna considered telling him she was hardly lucky, but decided against it and instead leaned against Aramir's shoulder. "Well, how long are we to be under your guard?"

"Until we decide what to do with you," Robin said matter-of-factly. "You did resist us, you know. But that can wait until morning. I, for one, am famished."

"But you must understand," Enna cried. "We are in great has—"

"Tomorrow, tomorrow," Robin interrupted, waving his hand at her. "It's time for supper. Roast boar, I assume, Puck?"

A fat, dwarfish, balding man looked up from a large pot suspended over a roaring fire, his round cheeks ruddy red. "No, not tonight, Robin," he replied. "Boar stew."

"Even better! Break out enough bowls for our guests, if you don't mind."

"Oh," said Puck, rummaging around in a sack as the squeezebox started up again. "They're quite young this time."

"Indeed." Robin took the bowls from Puck and handed them to Enna, Aramir, Endrit, and Tamlyn. "Go on, sit, sit. We might as well eat together like friends for now."

Trading wary glances, the four sat slowly in the grass as Puck ladled out rich stew and handed them spoons. "So," Robin said, passing out bowls to the men that had been with him on the path. Several others gathered around, staring openly at the newcomers. "What are your names?"

"I am Endrit," Endrit said.

"Endrit. Do you have a surname?"

"Roscommon," he said darkly, after a pause.

"Roscommon?" Robin repeated with his mouth full. "Not of Bodmor Roscommon fame?"

Endrit sighed heavily. "He is my father."

Robin swallowed his stew and laughed before taking a swig of ale. "I knew him, I did, before he sired you. Mind you, I was a lad, but I have met him. A good man."

Enna, who had been under the impression that this Robin fellow was of an age with her and Endrit, took a closer look, and saw that, under the beard and insouciant grin lurked faint laugh lines. He must have been nearing his forties, at least.

"Aye," Endrit said. "I am proud to be called his son. And, oh—you must have noticed. Her Majesty is—"

"Your sister?" Robin nodded and laughed. "Indeed. 'Tis rather hard to miss, don't you think, Puck?"

"Oh, indeed, indeed," said the fat man rather distractedly.

Robin took another drink of his ale and cleared his throat. "But what of these two fine specimens? I've heard scarcely a word from either of them, save milady's exceptional shrieking abilities."

Tamlyn blushed bright red with mortification. "I am Tamlyn," she squeaked. "Her Majesty's lady-in-waiting."

"I see. And did she teach you the art of calling up the dead from their graves? For that is what I swear you were trying to do."

His men laughed heartily, and even Enna and Aramir had trouble hiding their grins. "No," Tamlyn whispered.

"Very well, very well. But what about you, young man?"

"I am Aramir," Aramir said. "Knight of Narnia."

"Of Narnia, eh?" Robin offered them more stew. "What are you doing in Archenland?"

"See, that is what I was trying to tell you," Enna broke in.

Robin held up a hand. "If this is going to lead to you begging for your release, I will have nothing of it until tomorrow morning."

Enna frowned in frustration.

"Well, now that you've introduced yourselves," he went on, "I'll introduce ourselves. I am Robin Goodfellow. This here is John Small, my right-hand man."

He indicated the burly blond, who blushed and muttered bashfully, "I'm not really small."

To Enna's surprise, Tamlyn giggled, then looked mortified at her daring.

Raising his eyebrows slightly, Robin pointed to a young lad, a thin beard just beginning to form on his cheeks, who watched Enna with curious, wide green eyes. "This is Much."

"Hello, Much," Enna said, as he looked at her so directly.

He nodded solemnly.

"And this is Adale," Robin went on, clapping the shoulder of a very handsome young man with fine yellow hair. "He is our musician!"

"Indeed I am," Adale said. "Though my professionalism doesn't seem to stem anyone else's music." He said this with an exasperated sigh, putting a hand over the ear that faced the squeezeboxer.

"His lovely wife Wynna graces our presence." Robin winked.

"I'd introduce her to you, but she has already retired," Adale said with an apologetic shrug.

"Never mind that," Robin said. "This here is Blande. He hunts for us when we're too busy to do it ourselves. Wicked with a staff, though."

"Blande?" Endrit repeated. "I've heard of you. You're a poacher, aren't you?"

"And proud of it," the thin-faced, greying man said with a snide bow.

Endrit scowled and muttered, "Brigands, all."

Robin laughed and tugged another young man over. "And this is Stutely. A bloody good intelligencer—used to be a whaler."

"What made you quit?" Aramir asked.

"Lost my sea legs, I suppose," Stutely said with a smart salute, before burying his face in a mug of ale.

"And then last, but certainly not least," Robin went on, "Wilm. My nephew, he is. Son of my late sister. Say hello, Wilm."

Wilm did bear a resemblance to his uncle: a very impertinent grin. "Hello, all."

"Who is everyone else, then?" Enna asked, looking around at the many others whom Robin had not introduced.

He waved an airy hand. "They are more of my men. Hangers-on, some, reformed criminals unwelcome in other areas of Archenland, their wives and children, a few orphans and a few lasses running from unwanted marriage. These seven are my cardinal fighters, though."

Much, Adale, Blande, Stutely, Puck, and Wilm all went ruddy with pride and shook their heads in humility.

"What a motley crew," Aramir noted.

"Indeed, indeed," Robin said with a sigh. "But I like to think we all are happier away from the oppression of our overtaxing nobles and damn serfdom."

"Oh, hardly," Endrit broke in. "We scarcely tax at all. And we do not require our swains to stay under our rule—they can leave whenever they feel. You have us confused with the Calormenes!"

"You may _say_ that you allow them to leave," Robin countered. "But you keep them so poor they are unable to."

"We do not _keep_ them poor, at all!" Endrit blustered, setting his bowl down in the grass so hard stew splashed out. A lop-eared dog came running over to lap it up, but Endrit ignored it. "You make us sound like horrid people."

"Not horrid people, lad," Robin said, tilting his head with a teasing grin. "Just…misdirected."

"Can you believe this lummox?" Endrit said to Enna and Aramir, his face reddening. "Really!"

"Peace, brother," Enna said softly.

"There." Robin clapped his hands. "Queenie speaks good sense. I see at least _something_ of your father's was passed down."

Endrit stood up, eyes flashing. "Say that again, you pirate."

Robin watched him impassively for a moment before slowly getting to his feet and crossing his arms over his broad chest. "I see…at least _something_ of your father's…was passed down."

A vein jumped in Endrit's throat, and Enna hoped briefly that she didn't look so disagreeable when she was angry. "I hope you rot," he spat.

The blithe expression on Robin's face disappeared, and Enna sat up straighter, looking nervously at Aramir. "John?" Robin said.

"Aye, Robin?"

"Bring me a staff. And find one for our _welcome_ guest."

Endrit stared unblinkingly at Robin, his chin jutted out. "I'll gladly exchange blows with you, knave," he ground out.

Aramir stood up at this and stepped between Robin and Endrit, easily but firmly pushing Endrit away. "Come, now," he said with an obliging smile, "let's not brawl. Remember, we have ladies present. Endrit," he added in a pointed whisper, "think of your wife and son."

Endrit glared at him, but then resignedly sat down. Enna resisted a sigh of relief and gave him a scolding look.

"All that's fine and dandy," Robin said loudly, "but my blood is up. I _will_ have a set-to."

"Then choose someone without a family," Aramir replied reprovingly, and went to sit down.

Robin caught his sleeve, eyeing him calculatingly. "What about you then? You look a stalwart lad, and a knight, too."

"Very well," Aramir said.

Enna scoffed in utter disbelief. "Aramir, that's no better than if Endrit fought," she cried, scrambling to her feet.

"It _is_ better," he replied. "I don't have a family to provide for. Besides. I could use some practice. I have never fought with staffs before."

He looked genuinely interested! "Don't be a fool," Enna said. "You may not have a family to provide for, but I'd rather you didn't injure yourself, all the same. Robin, you wouldn't dare fight him."

Robin shrugged. "If the lad wants to, who am I to stop him?"

"But he's hardly qualified!" Enna argued. "He may be a knight, but he has never had formal training. You'd be taking advantage of him."

Aramir put firm hands on her shoulders and drew her away from Robin. "I'm glad you have such faith in me, Enna," he said, returning her to her spot beside Endrit.

She caught a brief glimpse of his injured expression before he turned away to accept a thick, gnarled oaken staff from John Little. "Oh, Aramir," she said, her conscience now panging. "I didn't mean it that way…"

He didn't seem to have heard her. Instead, he hefted the stave in his hands, following Robin to an uncluttered area of the clearing. The squeezeboxer stopped suddenly as people began to notice the brewing fight and gathered around rather like naughty schoolchildren on the playground.

Enna wanted to run out and knock both men on the heads with their staffs. Robin was a rat for wanting to fight an inexperienced young sailor, and Aramir was a halfwit for accepting the challenge. But before she could make her disapproval known, Robin, still wearing his hat with the rooster feather, held out his staff and Aramir's hands tensed almost invisibly around his own.

Then, suddenly, Robin struck. The staves collided with a loud crack and bounced off each other, vibrating with the impact. Someone shouted, "Show him, Robin!"

It did not take long for him to do so. Aramir gave a valiant attempt at the unfamiliar form of battle, but the late hour and lack of skill quickly took its toll on the younger man. After a particularly sharp rap on the knuckles, he withdrew the staff and shook his head. "You win, Robin," he said despondently.

Robin laughed, holding his hat to his head with one hand. "So soon, lad? Very well. Perhaps that will teach you to consider carefully whom you challenge to combat, eh? But don't look so dismayed. You tried gallantly, nonetheless." He clapped Aramir on the shoulder.

Aramir shrugged and handed him the staff, massaging his bruised knuckles.

Yawning, Robin gave a long stretch. "I'm growing rather weary. What say you to bed, friends?"

"Thank you," Tamlyn said quickly.

Robin laughed again. "Very well. Much, be a good lad and show our guests their cots?"

Much nodded and motioned for Enna, Aramir, Endrit, and Tamlyn to follow him. He led them to the base of a tree, and began to scramble nimbly up the rope ladder. Trading glances, the other four came along behind. He was waiting for them in the kind of lean-to built among the branches of the tree; four cushions rested against the thick trunk, and there was a stack of blankets in the corner.

"My mama sent these up," Much said shyly.

"That was very kind of her," Aramir told him.

Much ducked his head bashfully and quickly scurried down the ladder, taking the lantern with him. It was very dark without the light, and the four bumped a few heads together as they attempted to put together beds before their eyes adjusted. Down on the ground, the squeezebox had started up again, and the faint words of the song drifted up to them:

_"'Tis advertised in Avochton, Callan, and Ennislough:_

_Five hundred Archenlanders a-sailin' for to go,_

_Singing, blow, ye winds, in the morning,_

_Blow, ye winds, heigh-ho!_

_Clear away your runnin' gear,_

_And blow, boys, blow!"_

Aramir hummed along as he readied his sleeping space. Enna listened, the tune familiar to her ear as well, but also feeling rather poorly for her conduct towards him earlier that night. He didn't say anything of it, but he didn't look her way, either—and this made her feel even worse.

At last, everyone settled in. Tamlyn fell asleep almost immediately, and Endrit soon followed. But Enna stared up at the pine roof of the tree house, her conscience throbbing and ears filled with the familiar sea chantey that was being sung down below.

_"They send you to New Lamberton, that famous sailing port,_

_And give you to some land sharks to board and fit you out._

_Singing, blow, ye winds, in the morning,_

_Blow, ye winds, heigh-ho!_

_Clear away your runnin' gear,_

_And blow, boys, blow!"_

She rolled over onto her side. "Aramir?" she whispered.

"Hmm?"

He was almost asleep. "I'm…"

"…You're what?"

"I'm sorry for being so inconsiderate earlier. I…just didn't want you to get hurt."

There was a brief pause. Enna bit her lip, and had just started wondering if he might actually refuse her apology when his big, warm hand closed over hers. "It's quite all right," he said, his voice muffled by his pillow. "I forgive you."

A snug glow settled in Enna's stomach, and she curled her fingers around his. "Good. I don't like it when you're cross with me."

He didn't answer. Enna held her breath, and a moment later, he let out a breathy snore. She couldn't help but chuckle and close her own eyes—and hope for the best, tomorrow.


	31. Chapter Thirty One

_A/N: Phew! I didn't think I'd have time to update—but I did! But an FYI: I am going on vacation with the fam for about a week starting tomorrow, so don't expect any updates. ;) Have a good Independence Day, all my American readers! (And of course, don't neglect to think about the sacrifices made July 1-3, 1863, at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.)_

--

The four companions woke late the next morning, their heads fuzzy from the unusual amount of sleep they'd gotten. The first thought that crossed Enna's mind when she opened her eyes was the fact that they'd have to go another night short of sleep to get their bodies back on schedule without losing a day of travel. The second thought, as Aramir groaned and rubbed at his eyes next to her, was that they might not even leave Aberwood at all. All depended upon the goodness of Robin Goodfellow and his men—she tried not to think of the Terebinthian army camped outside Anvard.

"Excuse me," came an unfamiliar voice.

Everyone turned to look at the intruder. Tow-headed young Wilm, Robin's nephew, stood at the entrance to the little tree house, already fully dressed in his bright green tunic and brown leggings. "Good morning, all," he said.

"Good morning," they replied, Enna and Tamlyn unconsciously drawing their blankets up.

"My uncle Robin is requesting your presences on the ground. He says it's a matter of greatest importance."

"We'll be right down," Endrit said, looking around at the others.

"Right," said Wilm, nodded, and went back down the ladder.

"I hope he will let us go," Enna sighed as she tried to detangle her hair to plait it again.

Endrit and Aramir put their boots on. "I would not count on it, sister," Endrit said darkly, knotting the ties on his.

Tamlyn let out a little whimper.

"Peace, Tam," Enna said. "His name can't be 'Goodfellow' for nothing."

"You'd be surprised," Endrit said in singsong voice.

Enna shot him a dark look.

When they reached the ground, they found the campfires and logs for sitting that had been there the night before all mysteriously taken away. Instead, seated behind a rough-hewn table of oak, sat Robin, John Small, Much, Adale, Stutely, Wilm, and Puck, all dressed in the silliest of getups: black robes so long they dragged on the ground for several inches, swallowing up hands and feet. They looked like ridiculous caricatures of county magistrates.

"All rise," said Robin when he noticed them.

Enna looked around—all the occupants of the little settlement were seated in an almost arena-like setting around them, staring openly.

"What is the meaning of this?" Aramir asked.

Robin frowned deeply. "We are here to decide what to do with you, liars and rich nogoodniks as you are."

The blood began to drain from Enna's head, but then Tamlyn clutched at her hand and her courage came rushing back. "Do you mean to mock us, sir?" she challenged.

"Silence in the courtroom!" John bellowed back.

Enna fell silent.

"Easy, big fellow," Robin said to him, shaking his head. "The defendants have a right to speak."

John looked sheepish.

"Now, then," Robin went on. "You will have the charges that are being leveled against you read aloud for the good of all to hear. Go on, Adale."

Adale stood up and cleared his throat. "The defendants are charged with the following: trespassing on private property, perfidy, impersonation, resisting arrest, and being rich."

"Hear, hear!" shouted the crowds.

Robin banged a shoe on the table. "Quiet! Quiet!"

When still the crowds refused to hush, he nodded to John, who bellowed, _"Silence in the courtroom!_"

Silence fell immediately.

"Thank you," Robin sighed. "Now, defendants—what do you have to say for yourselves?"

"For one," Enna said right off, "this is not _your_ property. It is that of the king's, and he has generously not burned you out of it."

"Marked," said Robin, nodding to Puck, who wrote something down.

"Secondly," Enna went on, heartened by Robin's politely interested expression, "we lied to you and impersonated peasants because we were afraid that precisely this would happen. We are in great haste, and it is a matter of national importance. We had no time to consider another route."

"National importance, eh?" said Puck. "What is this matter you speak of?"

Enna looked at Aramir, who nodded bracingly. "Archenland is at war, sirs," she said earnestly. "The isles of Galma and Terebinthia have made bloody bids for their independence from Narnia. As an ally of Narnia, closely tied to her success, Archenland has been obliged to enter the conflict. We are ambassadors en route to Calormen in an attempt to gain support and men to aid us in fighting the rebels."

She took a deep breath.

"War!" Robin exclaimed. "Why was I not told earlier!"

"I didn't know about it," murmured his men.

"It's true," Endrit broke in. "I am a captain of the infantry, and the soldiers have begun to be mobilized for war. The Terebinthian army already camps across the river from Anvard."

"Poor Anvard," someone cried.

Robin waved his hands. "We shall return to this momentarily. Are there any other charges you wish to contest?"

"Most certainly," Enna said firmly—no use quitting while they were ahead.

"As for resisting arrest, then?"

"Well, with all due respect, sirs," she replied quietly, "no one likes being arrested."

Robin put his head back and laughed, and his men chuckled as well. "Point well taken, Queenie," he said loudly. "Point well taken. But as for being rich?"

Enna was ready for this one. "Begging your pardon," she said, "but it is not our fault we are rich."

The Aberwooders stared at her. "Not your _fault_?" Adale exclaimed.

"Indeed, sir."

"I am intrigued," said Robin. "How can it not be your fault?"

"Well," Enna explained, "the wealth I have is not mine. It is my husband's or brothers. The clothing I wear comes courtesy of the king of Archenland."

"But what of your friends?"

Enna looked at them. "As for Sir Aramir," she said, "it is the same. His clothing was a gift from the King Lune, and his title came with no land or money."

"Indeed," said Aramir, "my brother is a root cause of this war. I will have nothing after it is over."

"And for Tamlyn," Enna went on, "her wealth is her father's. And, being a woman, she can't inherit any of it."

"Then how do account for your brother?"

"Easily," said Enna. "It is our father's, earned rightfully through dedicated military service."

Robin exchanged looks with John and Puck. "You make a very interesting case, Queenie," he said. "Interesting, indeed."

They all held their breaths.

"I think, therefore, in light of Queenie's brilliant defense, that the captives should be free to go on their way."

The spectators burst out in light applause, and Tamlyn fell on Enna, sobbing in relief. "Thank you! Thank you!" she cried, and Enna wasn't sure whether she or Robin was being referred to.

Robin came down from behind the table, his grin as wide as his robe was long. "I'll have you know I meant to let you four go this morning, regardless," he said to Enna. "We always tease our guests in such a manner."

Enna was still patting Tamlyn on the back, and gave Robin a threatening look. "How cruel of you! Leading us on like that."

Robin clearly was not proud of making Tamlyn cry, and he produced a pastry from within his robe. "Sweets for the sweet?" he said gently.

Tamlyn looked up at him, drying her eyes, then shyly took the proffered cake.

"All your things will be given back in one piece, of course," Robin said. "Horses, rations, water, and so on."

Enna, at this plain goodness of her once-captor, felt her heart soften a little. "Well, I thank you," she said. "That's very kind of you."

"And if you are going through the desert," Robin went on, as if he hadn't heard her, "you may wish for a few suggestions. We occasionally travel through it on personal matters."

"Aye," she replied, "any help would be greatly appreciated."

He motioned for her and Endrit to follow him. "Come. I'll show you the map."

"Stay here and rest your feet, Tam," Enna told her.

"I'll make sure no one steals your pastry," Aramir said mildly, effecting a dark look from the young girl.

Enna and Endrit followed Robin back to the table, where he found some maps and spread them out. "Here we are," he said, pointing to a mass of trees in the south of Archenland. "You are about seven days' journey from the Great Desert. If the mountains weren't there, it would take you three."

He pointed to a great expanse of tawny paint between Archenland and Calormen.

"If you ride straight through the desert, it will take you about two days," he went on. "Or a night and a day of hard riding. If you choose to do so, you must be sure to take this route"—he traced a path directly south through the desert—"for it will bring you to an oasis about halfway. Trees and water and the like. _But_—and listen closely, friends, for this is important!—if you go this way, you will encounter the mountains. However, if you go this way"—he drew an invisible line listing a little eastward—"there is a valley that will bring you through the mountains in one day, tops."

"We ought to take that one, then," Enna said.

"But we will be longer in the desert," Endrit replied, biting his lip.

"Only if you wish to reach the oasis," Robin said. "It is possible to go right through, if you are sufficiently prepared."

Endrit looked at Enna. "I think we are."

"I do, too."

"We will go that way, then," Endrit said decisively. "Most certainly."

"Good." Robin straightened. "You must visit us when you return. We will gladly host you a night or two."

"I think we have had quite enough of Aberwood for a while," Endrit laughed. "I do not think _I_ will be returning any time soon."

Enna and Robin couldn't help but laugh. "Fair enough," said Robin. "Fair enough. But I have kept you long already—noon approaches. We will get your horses saddled and water bags refilled and send you on your way."

"Thank you," Enna said sincerely. "You are kind."

"Must live up to the name, don't you know," Robin said with a wink. "You have entertained us most completely."

"My pleasure," she retorted darkly, and then she and Endrit went back to Aramir and Tamlyn to wait for their horses.


	32. Chapter Thirty Two

_A/N: I'm so sorry this chapter is so late! I got back from my vacation bushed, and I've been so busy my muse has gone dormant! Wake up, musey! She's been sitting on a couch watching TV, eating chips, and getting fat for the last few weeks. Back to the grindstone, lazy butt. :P (I'm speaking both to her and to myself!) So hopefully this chapter will make up for its lateness. Sorta._

--

Over the next semi-fortnight, the four travelers crossed the last green meadows of Archenland. The Southern Mountains, much snowier and darker than the Archen Mountains to the north, loomed ever closer, until at last they found themselves riding in the shadows of the peaks, following the narrow path through those rocky hills. Enna, privately, had harbored some doubt about the passage Robin Goodfellow had suggested, but it soon came to pass that her fears were quite unfounded. It was early in the morning on the last day of August when the riders left the cool shade of the Archenlandian mountain pass and crossed down into the hot, dry, blazing sands of Calormen.

"Oh, Majesty, I am _so hot_," Tamlyn cried almost immediately.

"Then remove your headscarf, silly goose," Enna replied. "The blasted thing is only making you hotter."

Tamlyn's lower lip quivered, but she slowly unpinned the dirty kerchief and tucked it into her bodice. Enna took no notice; her horse's hooves were sinking in the hot sand, and it blew noisily.

"We will not be able to ride hard under these conditions," Aramir said, as if he'd read Enna's mind. "The horses will not manage."

"I was thinking the same thing," Endrit sighed. "But I don't know what we are to do. I suppose we might go back through the pass and try the way with the oasis."

"That will defeat the purpose," Enna said. "We want to get to Calormen as soon as possible, and this is the fastest way. I suggest we share horses for the time being, and then switch later in the day. That way we cover the same amount of ground and don't expend the mounts' strength."

Endrit and Aramir looked at each other. "Brilliant proposal, Enna," Aramir said, reining his horse in.

"Agreed," said Endrit. "Come, Enna, dismount. We'll put my things on your horse, and you will ride with me. Tamlyn may ride with you, Aramir."

Enna slid from her horse, and the moment her feet touched the sand, the heat soaked through her boots and almost burned her toes. Wincing, she accepted Endrit's packs and secured them atop her saddle, loosening her horse's bridle and taking the reins in her hand before swinging up in front of Endrit.

"Erm," she heard him say.

"What is it?"

"I can't see over your head, sister."

"What if I sit behind?"

"Try that."

So they switched positions. But as soon as she got settled, Enna realized that all _she_ could see was the back of Endrit's head. "This will never do," she announced. "I may not be directing the horse, but I sure as goodness wish to see where we're headed!"

"We're of the same height," Endrit said. "There is no compromise. Either I cannot see, or you cannot."

Enna opened her mouth to reply snappishly, but Aramir said, "I am taller than you, Enna. Why don't you ride with me, and Lady Tamlyn with Endrit?"

"If you don't mind, Tamlyn," said Enna.

Tamlyn, who was dancing around in the hot sand to keep her feet from burning, said quickly, "No, no, I hardly mind at all."

Enna slid down from Endrit's horse and scuttled across the sand to Aramir, who reached a hand down to lift her to the saddle in front of him. It was a rather odd sensation, being folded up into Aramir's arms as he gathered the reins in his hands, but she almost liked it, despite the added warmth to the already hot morning. It made her feel safer, in a way.

"There," came his voice from behind her. "Better?"

"Much," she said, her face growing strangely hot.

He tied Tamlyn's horse to his saddle by its reins, and Endrit did the same with Enna's, and soon they were moving again across the blazing sands.

--

The moon was rising over the hazy dunes when the wind started to pick up. Flying yellow dust, caught up by the hot gusts, lashed any exposed skin, and the horses whinnied and lashed their tails.

"Perhaps we ought to stop for the night," Enna called to Aramir as dust devils swirled around their feet.

She felt his nod. "Endrit!" came his bellow.

"What?"

"We ought to stop before the wind gets worse."

A particularly strong blast sent tiny grains of sand clattering down into Enna's lungs, and she responded with a hacking cough. Aramir immediately halted the horse and pounded on her back until, her eyes watering, she managed to stop barking.

"Are you all right?" he asked her, his voice sounding worried.

She nodded, drawing her cloak up over her mouth as she feared breathing more sand into her aching lungs.

"We'll stop here, then," Endrit said, and she heard him jump from his horse. Aramir dismounted next and helped Enna down, handling her almost as if he were afraid he'd break her. "I'm not ill or dying, you know," she told him hoarsely but with an arch look as he set her gently on the ground.

"Would you rather I toss you down from the saddle, madam? For that can be arranged."

Enna laughed and helped him unsaddle the horses. The satchels and flasks of now-precious water they placed carefully under the saddles they removed, and each horse had a blanket tied over its head to shield the delicate eyes and ears from the blowing irritants.

"There'll be no fire yet," Endrit said after they settled down in the warm sand to eat their meager meals in the fading light. "If this wind keeps up, it'll be buried in an hour, anyway."

"I'll keep watch first," Aramir volunteered.

"Thank you."

Tucking their cloaks around their heads as they settled down into the sand, Enna, Endrit, and Tamlyn tried to sleep. Enna was exhausted enough that it didn't take long for her to drift off into an unsettled doze despite the noise; however, only two hours later, she awoke to dead silence. The wind had stopped, and the moon loomed high overhead. It was almost cold, now, and far away there came a lingering howl.

She shivered. Relieving oneself in the meadows and hills of Narnia and Archenland had been one thing—one could always find a bush or rock to take cover behind—but now that they were in the desert? Where could she go? The idea of leaving the safety of the small circle gave her quite an unpleasant sensation in the pit of her stomach, but she could hardly do her business nearby, not with Aramir sitting up at watch.

Enna sat up—the possibility of her being eaten by jackals was much less likely than that of Aramir noticing her lifting her skirts. "I'll be right back," she told him when he opened his mouth to ask what she was doing.

The sand was blessedly cool now that the sun had set, Enna noticed as she slid down the side of a dune. But it was also frightfully dark—much darker than Archenland had been. She hoped she wouldn't tread on a snake or run into a jackal. The thought made her hair stand on end.

As she went about relieving herself, the wind began to pick up again. It was hard to tell in the half-light, but it was drawing up much more sand than earlier. It stung Enna's face and hands, and even hurt through her frock. She heard a horse whinny, sounding very far away indeed.

But just as she finished and started to scramble up the side of the dune, half the banked heap lifted off and tumbled down atop her. A shriek escaped her throat as the sliding sand knocked her off her feet and sent her rolling, half-buried, down the hill, but as soon as she stopped, she leapt back to her feet and shook the sand from her dress. Many grains lifted off into the swirling wind.

With the whole slope of the dune gone, Enna was forced to circle around and try to find a less precipitous way back to the camp. In the daytime, this task would have been easy as pie for one so accustomed to sand as Enna, but it was dark, and the roaring wind and billowing dust quite disoriented her. She couldn't see more than five feet in front of her, and her throat and eyes were growing choked with sand.

Suddenly, she stepped on someone's toes and ran smack into their chest. They bellowed noisily with the pain, and Enna, terrified that she'd hurt Aramir something awful, stumbled backwards to the ground.

"Aramir, I'm so sorry," she gasped, but there was no response.

Enna coughed and flung her arm over her mouth as she struggled back to her feet. It was almost as if the windstorm was growing worse! She could hardly keep her eyes open for the blowing sand.

Suddenly, she thought she heard a voice. She stopped abruptly and attempted to listen over the noise of the sand and gusts, and eventually heard a faint, _"Enna!_"

"I'm here!" she cried, hoping her voice carried. She began stumbling in the direction of the call, the wind buffeting her to and fro.

All at once, there were arms wrapping around her and she was collapsing to the sand, her face pressed into someone's hard shoulder. They were pinning her to the ground with their arms and the weight of their chest, and she heard their harsh breathing.

"Get off me," Enna bellowed into their tunic, but her voice was lost in the sudden, banshee-like shrieking of the wind. She felt sand lashing her hair and drifting up around her, and it sounded as if a million wild cats were charging into battle above her head; she'd read about these as a child, but never thought she'd experience one—a sandstorm. Her books had told of whole towns being buried alive by such storms, horses suffocating in their stables, men entombed in over ten feet of drifted sand in just a moment's time, the eyes of shepherds torn to shreds, entire flocks of birds being dashed from the skies by the fierce winds.

Enna clung to the person shielding her face from the dangerous gales.

A lifetime, or what seemed to be, passed before the weather calmed and the sand stopped blowing. At first, Enna wasn't sure what was happening, but then the person atop her stirred, shook their head, and slowly sat up. Enna blinked, staring shakily up at the starry sky, and then turned to look at her rescuer.

It shouldn't have surprised her that the person was Aramir; but still she stared, wide-eyed, as he brushed sand from his curly dark hair and rubbed it away from his big grey eyes. "It was _you_!" she breathed.

"You gave me quite the turn, you know," he said darkly, reaching over to start pushing the accumulated sand away from her head so she could sit up without a shower of dust. "I was positive you'd gotten yourself eaten or buried alive."

Enna struggled to sit up, rather startled at how trembly she still was. "Did you come to look for me, then?"

"Aye."

"Are Endrit and Tamlyn—?"

"They're quite all right." Aramir looked around. "Unfortunately for you, you were in a basin when the storm hit. All the dunes around us collapsed."

"Hence the sand," Enna said.

"Here." Aramir stood up and reached down to her; she wrapped her arms around his neck and he, with a groan, pulled her free from the drifted sand. Somewhere nearby, a jackal howled, and the sound was so close and so ghostly that Enna's heart leapt into her throat and she tightened her arms around Aramir.

"Don't be afraid," he said. "The worst they can do is eat you—not as bad as being buried alive, eh?"

This did not comfort Enna a bit, and she refused to let go. "Oh, I wish we were out of this place," she whispered.

"Soon enough, I promise." He brushed the sandy remnants from her cheek before loosening her hands. "Now, come along—if you want any sleep before daylight, I suggest we go back to camp."

Enna found his hand and clamped onto it with both of hers. "I don't know where we are."

"_I_ do. See? You needn't worry!"

Biting her lip, Enna let him lead her up out of the deep basin. As they finally crested the highest dune, she saw the little camp close by, with Tamlyn and Endrit busy shaking sand from the blankets and gently brushing the horses' heads. "You know," she said at last, still clinging to his hand, "I'm very sorry for stepping on your toes. It must have hurt."

"You never stepped on my toes. At least not recently."

Enna stopped. "Then—then who was it I ran into during the storm?"

Aramir stared at her. "It certainly wasn't me."

Her breath catching in her throat, she turned to look out over the desert behind her—and saw, emerging from the drifted sands under the light of the desert moon, a host of leather-clad soldiers and the waving red sun of Galma.


	33. Chapter Thirty Three

_A/N: I just want to take a moment to thank everyone who reviewed Chapter Thirty-Two. I've had a really, really rough week and your sweet reviews were once almost literally the only things keeping me from crawling under a rock and sleeping for days! (Yes. My week was that rough.) Anyhoo. _

_You know you write too much Narnia fanfiction when Microsoft Word automatically changes 'Galamnian' to 'Galmanian' and 'Calomen' to 'Calormen'. XP_

--

The soldiers of Galma were too preoccupied with freeing themselves and their tents from the drifted desert sands to notice their horror-stricken observers atop the dune. Indeed, Enna and Aramir stood and stared in partial disbelief, partial panic, both of them wordless. Then, at last, Aramir came to his senses and slowly stepped down from the crest of the dune, drawing Enna along with him. Endrit and Tamlyn noticed their odd behavior and almost called out to them, but Enna waved her arms frantically.

Crouching low to the sand, she and Aramir hurried back to where their two other companions stood quizzically. "There's no time to explain," she hissed to them. "Saddle all the horses—we must ride for Calormen, and hard!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Enna," Endrit said. "If there's another sandstorm coming, we can't possibly outride it."

"It's worse than a sandstorm," Aramir retorted dryly.

"What could possibly be?"

"Oh, perhaps the Galmanian army?"

Endrit blinked once and gawked at the two. "The—the _Galmanian_ army? Are you sure?"

Enna, who already had her horse half-saddled, stared at him. "You think I wouldn't know it when I saw it? They are just over that dune! And we must get to Calormen before they do—and before they see us."

"How are they outfitted?"

"Not many horses," Aramir said. "But they are quick marchers."

Endrit hesitated another moment, then dashed to his horse and began suiting it up. Tamlyn hurried around the tiny campsite, wringing her hands quite uselessly. "Oh, what are we to do?" she moaned. "What are we to do? We shall certainly all perish at the hands of those monsters!"

"Tamlyn, be quiet," Enna snapped, "or I shall make sure to leave you behind!"

Tamlyn blanched and fell silent.

With the very real threat of death thus spurring them on from behind, Enna, Aramir, Endrit, and Tamlyn drove their horses hard through the desert, growing damp with the froth and sweat that poured from their mounts' mouths and manes. As the night wore on, the desert air grew colder and colder, until the travelers shivered in the saddle. Enna didn't know if she preferred this strange and rather unpleasant cold to the blazing heat of the daytime, but at least the sun wasn't there to burn their eyes.

The light of dawn was beginning to grace the eastern horizon when they came upon a wide, rushing river, set suddenly and unexpectedly in a band of lush vegetation growing out of the desert sand. Dusty and parched from the journey, all four riders and their respective horses plunged into the icy water, burying their faces in it and drinking deeply.

"Does this mean we are close?" Enna asked at last, her voice sounding hoarse as she stood waist-deep in the waters.

"I hope so," Endrit replied breathlessly. He splashed water over his head and rubbed the dribbles all over his drawn face. "I've been to Tashbaan once or twice, and I remember it being built on a sort of island or atoll in the middle of a great river. Quite like this one, I think."

Enna shielded her eyes against the rising sun and gazed downriver. Almost at the very edge of her sight wavered a distant structure, glistening with dew. "I think I see it."

Endrit and Aramir looked in that direction, and Endrit scooped himself up another handful of water. "Aye. That's Tashbaan."

"Do we dare stop to rest here?" Aramir said. "I think perhaps you and Enna and I could go on, but I doubt Tamlyn could."

Enna looked at Tamlyn. The younger girl had sat down in the sandy shallows and was submerged nearly to her neck; her eyes were lidded heavily, and her lips were white with exhaustion. "It's not quite dawn yet," she said to the men. "I think we can spare a few hours of rest. I'm sure the city gates don't open for some time, yet."

"I wonder if we should risk it," Endrit demurred. "After all, we have spent so much energy trying to get here before the Galmanians, I should hate to lose our advantage."

Enna splashed back to the bank, tugging her horse along behind her. "Fine, Endrit. You're right. You may go into Tashbaan, and I and Tamlyn shall stay behind."

"Don't be ridiculous, En—"

"You expect us to go into that city on no sleep?" Enna retorted. "If we don't get pick-pocketed or stabbed for our inattentiveness, we will most certainly offend the Tisroc with all our yawning."

"We can't quit now," Endrit said in an exasperatingly slow voice, _"Enna_."

Enna stomped her foot, crunching sandy gravel under her boot. "I'm not suggesting we quit, _Endrit_!"

"Now, now, children," Aramir said easily. "Let's not squabble."

Endrit blustered nonsensically for a moment, trying to spit out a string of words that made sense together. "You—you tell that girl that—that what she thinks is _stupid!_"

"_Not stupid_," Enna snarled.

With a wave of cold water that splashed into Enna's boots, Aramir stepped firmly between them. "That is quite enough," he said sternly, giving them both equally flinty looks. "A ship's crew is only as good as its worst sailor, and this little band is no different. Now, we've got to get on well or we risk not only our lives, but an entire war."

"I will compromise," Enna grumbled, "as long as I get my way."

Endrit sputtered meaninglessly.

"Enna," Aramir said warningly.

Enna scowled, but she knew he was right. "Fine," she burst out. "Fine! Let's go right to Tashbaan, with no sleep. I care not. Come, Tam, get up."

"Ah, come now, Enna," Aramir said, "don't be like that. I'm sure Endrit will see the logic to your suggestion, if we can discuss our options like _reasonable_ persons."

She looked back at the two men: Aramir looked tired indeed, but he was standing erect and alert in the water. Endrit, on the other hand, stood slouching beside him, looking very much like a recalcitrant child. "I'm willing to listen," she said at last, stiffly, "if Endrit is."

Endrit muttered something incoherent, but nodded.

"Very well," Aramir sighed. "Endrit, speak first. Why should we proceed directly to Tashbaan?"

"So we do not lose the advantage we rode so hard to win," Endrit replied quickly.

"And now, Enna, you may state your case."

"We won our advantage, indeed," Enna replied, "but we won it with a great deal to spare. The army will certainly not have marched through the night, and even if it did, our horses are much more fleet-footed than they. We have time—why don't we use it to recover our strength? If we are to convince the Tisroc to join us, we must be at our best, both mentally _and_ physically. I suggest we rest for just a little while—a few hours, that's all!—and then travel the rest of the way to Tashbaan."

"Please," came Tamlyn's tired voice.

"I have to admit," said Aramir, "I like Enna's idea best."

Endrit grumbled. "Fine. Fine."

Though she was relieved at having the opportunity to rest, Enna couldn't refrain from hiding a grin as she helped Tamlyn climb out of the water and wring the water from her skirts. She shouldn't have worried about getting her way.

So the four of them unsaddled their horses and stretched out in the cool grass to close their eyes, let their clothing dry, and wait for the sun to rise. Aramir was the first to drift off, and though Enna amused herself for quite a while watching him sleep, his and Tamlyn's combined soft snores soon made Enna's eyelids start to droop. Sighing, she made a pillow of her arms, curled up, and quickly fell asleep.

She woke to soft, tender touches at her cheek. A dozen ideas of what it could be (all of them blush-effecting) popped up in her sleepy mind, and she stirred and opened her eyes, eager to see which of them it was. As it turned out, it was neither Aramir nor her mother. Rather, it was Tamlyn's horse, trying to eat the bits of clover that had gotten tangled up in her curls as she slept.

"Foolish beast," she grumbled, pushing its head away and sitting up.

Aramir, Endrit, and Tamlyn were all still sleeping, though the sun had fully risen by this point and the temperature was edging towards hot. The river below glinted almost painfully in the light, but the warmth was so delightful on Enna's travel-sore legs that she basked in it for a good few minutes.

But only a few. Gradually, she began to notice that the sun was high in the sky. How long had they lain asleep? She looked once more at the sun. _It was past noon!_

"Wake up! Wake up!" she cried, scrambling to her feet and waking first Aramir, then Tamlyn, then Endrit.

They all sat up and blinked blearily at her, rubbing their eyes and stretching. "What is it, Enna?" Endrit yawned.

"It's noon!"

This woke them all up. Tamlyn let out a shrieking "Ohhh!" of horror before getting to her feet and then tripping over her frock the very next step. "Why didn't you wake us?" Endrit asked as he stumbled towards his horse with his saddle.

"Me?" Enna repeated. "I was never given the responsibility of staying up!"

"Well, nor was I!"

"Nor I!"

"There's no use in arguing over who didn't wake who," Aramir broke in, beginning to look quite irritated with them all. "We must worry about reaching Tashbaan. That is all."

"I'm doing plenty of worrying, Aramir," Tamlyn squeaked.

Aramir chuckled. "Thank you, Tamlyn. We appreciate it."

His laugh lifted the mood a minute measure; though it was a small improvement, it was felt nevertheless, and in another minute or two, they were all urging their horses into canters down the lush belt along the river.

Now that the sun had risen, Enna could clearly see the faraway city. It was built on an ascending hill, and it seemed that the mighty river forked before it and joined together again once it was past. Tall walls, almost menacing even from this distance, rose up out of the river water, and long bridges reached from each bank. At the pinnacle of the hill rose a great building (Enna couldn't make out what it was just yet), red banners flying from its corners.

"I've heard Tashbaan called one of the wonders of the world," Endrit said, his voice carried back to them by the wind.

"Is it?" Enna replied.

Endrit shrugged. "I'm sure it is to some. I found it rather hot and rudely crowded, but I think I could see the appeal."

Enna certainly could. The city was a vast oasis growing out of a barren desert: all along the riverbanks, as they came closer, there were beautiful houses with lush gardens spilling over into the water, and though Enna still thought Anvard the loveliest and Cair Paravel the grandest, Tashbaan was, by far, the most resplendent. _I would not want to be an enemy of this city,_ she thought a bit nervously, gazing up at the immenseness of the walled megalopolis.

Eventually, they came to one of the bridges Enna had seen earlier. Their horses shied a bit at the sudden hollow sounds of their hooves on wood, but they crossed without incident, even bowed to by the swarthy-skinned guards.

Interior Tashbaan was no less dazzling than the exterior. Enna had been awed at the friendly atmosphere of Anvard, but now she was even more awed at the lavish atmosphere of this capital. The streets were crowded to the point that even the horses had trouble walking through it, but almost every pedestrian was dressed in rich silks and flowing tunics. On their feet they wore shoes with toes that curled upwards (some even wore bells); the women wore brilliantly-colored veils over their noses and mouths, and some even wore billowy trousers under their ornate but dreadfully short frocks. Litters with waving silk curtains carried lords and ladies (or, tarkhaans and tarkheenas, as Enna was later informed) atop the shoulders of sturdy servants that were steadfastly silent in spite of any hindrance in their path.

"Oh, my," Enna heard Tamlyn say.

That summed up Enna's feelings quite neatly. "Well, where does the Tisroc live?" she asked Endrit.

"Above the city, of course. As he is 'above the proletarian.'"

"Of course," Enna muttered. "It shall take us all day just to get to the palace!"

"Then we should start right away."

"Very well." Enna sighed, but this was their only choice of action, so she nudged her horse into a brisk walk, hoping the Calormenes would clear her way on their own.

Clear the way they did, but it still took the four riders over an hour to reach the palaces of the Tisroc, looming high above the rest of the city and surrounding country. Aramir went a little white when he saw just how high up they really were, but Enna was too distracted by the overflowing gardens. Flowers and trees and plants, all brilliantly lit by the late afternoon sun, burst from every imaginable place: immense stone plots in the midst of the cobbled streets; carved planters suspended from gables and archways; even spilling over rooftops!

"It's lovely," she breathed. "I've never seen anything like it!"

"Halt! Who goeth before the palace of the Tisroc, may he live forever!"

With these words, a host of no fewer than twenty armed, swarthy soldiers came up from seemingly nowhere and approached the riders, each one outfitted with a long, sharp spear. Tamlyn squeaked in fright, and Enna saw out of the corner of her eye that Endrit had flung a hand over her mouth to restrain any future outbursts.

Enna drew her shoulders back and tried to look regal. "We have come to seek an audience with the Tisroc."

"May he live forever," Aramir added hastily.

The soldiers eyed them, and Enna suddenly remembered Peter's advice. Always follow the Tisroc's title with "may he live forever," and let a man do the talking!

"The Tisroc, may he live forever," answered the soldier with the thickest beard, "does not hold audiences with barbarians. Good day, and may Tash withdraw his wrathful hand from you."

"Look here," Aramir said, "we won't be long. We'd just like to speak to the Tisroc. May he live forever."

"Begone from the Tisroc's (may he live forever) palace," repeated the soldier.

"But—"

At this Endrit's outburst, all twenty men-at-arms lifted their spears and directed the glinting points at the riders. "And a wonderful day to you, too," Aramir said quickly, and they wheeled their horses around and went hastily back down from the palace.

"Well, that was fruitful," Enna said dryly as soon as they were safely in the main city. "Now what do we do?"

"I can't believe they called us 'barbarians'," Tamlyn hissed. "And that the only reason they refused to let us in! I'll have them know that—"

She babbled on, but Enna had been struck with an idea. "Wait," she interrupted, sitting up straight in the saddle. "I've a plan."

Aramir and Endrit looked at her. "How can we possibly scheme our way out of this?" Endrit asked.

Enna rubbed the space between her brows, thinking as she spoke. "They won't admit us into the palace because we're, to them, barbarians. And you must admit, we rather look the part."

They looked around at each other: sunburned, freckled faces; snarled and windswept hair; dirty faces; mud-stained clothes; dusty shoes. Aramir nodded in agreement and reached out to pull a wayward bud of clover from Enna's tangled hair.

"So what do you suggest?" he said.

"I say," Enna said slowly, "that we go…how is it said…incognito. We disguise ourselves to look like tarkhaans and tarkheenas to get past the guards. Once in the presence of the Tisroc, we can remove our disguises and proceed as normal."

"Aye, but where will we get the clothing to disguise ourselves?" Endrit asked.

Enna frowned in thought. As they stood in silence, however, a warbling servant girl in a house nearby shook out a fine wool carpet and hung it out of a window over their head. Aramir and Endrit followed Enna's gaze; Endrit did not quite understand, but Aramir immediately said, "I don't know how wise thievery is, Enna."

"Thievery?" Tamlyn breathed.

"Not _thievery_," Enna retorted, _"borrowing._ We simply borrow clothing, and return it when we leave."

Aramir and Endrit looked askance at each other.

"Oh, if it bothers you so much, leave some of the Archenlandian money, then," she said, crossing her arms.

"Well, when you put it that way…" Endrit said. "It seems our only choice."

Aramir shrugged noncommittally.

"Who'll do it, then?" Enna asked. "One can hardly walk in the front door. Whoever volunteers'll have to climb through that window."

"I have no experience in such matters," Endrit said immediately.

"I can't climb," Tamlyn added.

Aramir sighed and dropped his head between his shoulders. "I suppose I'll have to go."

"You know how to climb ratlines," Enna agreed.

And with that, it was decided. The four led their horses to an alleyway where Aramir dismounted and went back across the street. Nimbly, he clambered up to the third-floor window, peered inside, then lifted himself over the sill and disappeared from sight. Enna had thought nothing of this plan before, but now that it was actually being carried out, anxiety gnawed at her stomach. It seemed an eternity before she saw Aramir drop down out of the window again, his satchel bulging.

"How was it, old friend?" Endrit asked with a grin as Aramir came skittering into the alley, panting slightly.

"As exciting as one might imagine," Aramir replied, removing the satchel and handing it to Enna.

She was torn between opening the bag to see what costumes he'd managed to snatch and hugging him around the neck for agreeing to such a foolhardy plan. Eventually, she decided on the former, and pulled from the pouch first two silken doublets of vibrant colors and two pairs of billowy trousers in different but equally brilliant colors. After these articles came two long strips of satin and two pairs of curled-toe slippers.

"Those are for myself and you, I expect?" Endrit said to Aramir.

Aramir nodded. "The tarkhaan who owns that house keeps all his garb wrapped up together in tissue and store in a chest. It was quite easy—I just pulled two packages out. Both came with the suit and the turban and the shoes."

"Convenient," said Endrit, holding the orange doublet up against his travel-stained tunic.

Enna dove back into the bag, eager to see the gowns Aramir had chosen. Reaching in, she found two long, loose tunics and matching trousers. Both tunics had delicate embroidery along the neckline, and the trousers were almost like skirts in themselves—so slack! Then came two pairs of tiny silk slippers and two gossamer turbans.

"It was almost as easy finding these," Aramir explained. "It is wash day for that house, and these were lying out on the tarkheena's bed to be put away."

"They're _lovely_!" Tamlyn cried, falling upon the lavender purple ensemble.

"I suggest we dress," Endrit said. "The sun is setting."

And so, Tamlyn and Enna ducked through a nearby unlocked door (it led to a dark storage closet for some nearby house) and helped each other dress. The Calormene clothing was loose and seemed ill fitting, but the silk was cool against Enna's skin and the slippers felt like soft clouds on her feet. Tamlyn gently combed the sand and grass out of her long curls and then caught it up with a few pins, settling the gossamer fabric atop her head and draping it over her mouth and nose; Enna returned the favor (though significantly less carefully).

When they went back out to find Aramir and Endrit, they discovered a tarkhaan with his well-dressed barbarian slave in their place. They stared at each other for a good minute, and then had to laugh at the absurdity of their dress. Only Aramir looked relatively convincing, with his dark hair and eyes peering keenly out from under the turban.

"I cannot say I fancy the Calormene way of dress," Endrit said, shaking his head until his turban wobbled dangerously. "But to each his own, I suppose."

"Well, at least we look less like the barbarians they think we are," Enna said. "As long as Tamlyn and I keep our veils over our faces, and Endrit keeps his head down. You'll have to speak for us, Aramir."

"That I can do."

So they hid their dirty packs in a gutter and used their cloaks to rub the dust from their horses. As they swung up to their saddles, Enna thought how odd it was that, if caught, they would certainly be killed, but none of them seemed to care.

And thus they emerged from the alley four different persons, and headed back to the palace.

--

_A/N2: Dundunduuuuun…_


	34. Chapter Thirty Four

_A/N: So you all have been complaining about pointless fillers. Well, I offer you a rather short chapter that seems, at first glance, like filler. But you will soon see it is hardly so…_

--

When the guards approached the four riders advancing upon the palace of the Tisroc, may he live forever, they saw merely a tarkhaan, his tarkheena and her companion, and a barbarian slave. Bowing deeply, they accepted the reins of the aristocrats' mounts and summoned litters for the three tarkhs, so that they might not soil their fine silk slippers on their way to appear before the Tisroc (may he live forever).

Enna was astonished by the ease with which they gained access to the palace. For goodness' sake, they were being carried into it by palace servants! A glance at Tamlyn showed her face cool and composed above the gossamer veil, but knuckles white with nerves as they gripped her sedan chair. Endrit walked along between the two of them, his lips thin (he must have been rather miffed at being refused such luxury). Enna wanted to giggle with the giddy satisfaction that was bubbling inside her, but she forced herself to remember that not all was done with, yet. They had still to approach the Tisroc _and_ persuade him to listen to their pleas after they revealed their true identities. How would he react? In Narnia and Archenland they had been accepted heartily and happily, but Enna had a sneaking suspicion that it was not the same in Calormen.

But before she had a real chance to get nervous, two ornately decorated doors in front of them swung open slowly and grandly. The room inside was cool and dark, with high ceilings and burning incense in gold censers. Suddenly, the servants set her chair on the marble floor and prostrated themselves; she looked curiously, and saw, seated in a pile of silken cushions some distance from them, a short, fat man with dark skin and an aged beard. His white linen robe set off his wizened features with a startling contrast, turning his already dark eyes to black pools, deeply set in his fat face.

Aramir tugged sharply at her sleeve, and Enna hurried from her chair to bow low on the ground. "Greetings and highest blessings to thee, o exalted Tisroc, may you live forever," Aramir said quickly, his voice echoing against the tiles.

"Rise," said the Tisroc. His voice was oddly high and thin.

All four of them stood slowly, but at a sharp look from Aramir, Endrit quickly returned to his prone position. "We thank thee, o great Tisroc, may you live forever," said Aramir.

The Tisroc looked keenly at them. "What is thy name, tarkhaan, and thy purpose, that you seek audience with the Tisroc?"

Aramir looked at Enna, his face pale beneath the freckles. Enna felt a responsive stirring of anxiety in the pit of her stomach, but she nodded and winked at him. Tightening his lips determinedly, he returned the nod and pulled off his turban. "I am Aramir Ealion of Narnia, o great Tisroc, may you live forever," he said, his voice clear and firm. "We have come—"

But he got no further. Springing out from the shadows came a dozen or more sabred guardsmen, all clamoring to 'catch the deceivers!' as they rushed for Aramir, Enna, Tamlyn, and Endrit, their curved swords drawn. Of course, the only course of action the four could possibly take in such circumstances was evasion; as such, they pulled off their restrictive veils and turbans and forced their way past the servants barring the door.

"Run for the streets and take off your slippers," Endrit bellowed as they ran down the hall. "If we change our appearances, they cannot find us!"

Heeding his word only too well, Tamlyn reached down to remove her shoes as she ran. But, necessarily, she tripped upon her own hands and went sprawling to the ground. A guard quickly caught her up and clapped chains on her, despite her pitiful mewling.

Enna saw this, and determined right then and there that she would not go back to Archenland without her lady in waiting. Thus, she turned to give Tamlyn assistance, but was surprised to see Endrit hurtling past her and very nearly making it to Tamlyn before he, too, was seized by a soldier.

"Don't just stand there, Enna!" he roared.

But it was too late. Enna turned to keep running, but found herself face to face with a swarthy-skinned man-at-arms—that is, until he staggered to the side, sagging under the sudden force of all Aramir's strength launched right at his chest. The soldier was older and larger than the young sailor, however, and with one swing of his heavy sword, Aramir dropped to the marble floor like a stone and blood trickled from a gash at his temple. He lay twisted on the ground, waxen and unmoving.

It was all as if a dream. Enna took a running step towards him, her heart leaping up into her throat, but cruel hands closed upon her and dragged her away, away from Aramir's silent body and down to some other place. But Enna didn't care if it was a dungeon or a palace she was being taken to. If Aramir was gone, anything wrought upon her would seem as though a summer's night at sea: black, worthless, empty—and unbearably lonely.

--

_A/N2: Wow! The first main character I've ever killed off! D:_


	35. Chapter Thirty Five

The Calormene dungeon was nothing like the one in Cair Paravel. This one was dank, smelly, cold, and foul, the small pile of straw in the corner of the cell wet and mildewy. The few torches that flickered on the stone wall were smoky and poorly fed; a thin, mangy dog gnawed on a bone just outside the guardroom.

It was here that Enna, Endrit, and Tamlyn found themselves, shoved together into a tiny cell no more than six feet by six feet in size. Somewhere deeper in the dungeon, someone was wailing pitifully, their pathetic cries echoing up the dark corridor to mingle with Tamlyn's hiccupping sobs.

The poor girl sat in the least filthy corner of the dungeon she could find, bleating wretchedly into the corner of Endrit's turban. He sat by her, looking drawn and pained, as though he did not know quite what to do with her or himself. "Whatever shall we do?" Tamlyn wept. "Aramir was our only hope…now he is dead, and we are to be strung up, as well!"

"Hush, Tamlyn," said Endrit sharply.

Enna watched them blankly, her own mind too cottony to think of a response. Indeed, they were to be hung from the city walls at daylight the next morning, their corpses left to rot and be eaten by crows. But ironically, Enna found no distress in such a thought. If she could die nobly, she told herself, she could at least pay homage to Aramir's spirit. Doubtless, he was now festering in some municipal boneyard, tossed there to molder to nothing. It was almost fitting—his Calormene bones dissolving back into Calormene dust.

But she wished his Archenlandian half had won out.

Tamlyn uttered another gasping sob, clutching at her heart as though it were paining her. "Oh, Aramir, Aramir," she wailed, rocking to and fro. "Why?"

"Shut your mouth, Tamlyn," Enna snapped.

Both Tamlyn and Endrit stared at her, but Enna could not care less. Who was Tamlyn to mourn Aramir? She had scarcely known him a month. If anyone had a right to grieve, it was _Enna,_ who knew and cared for him more than she did her own brother. He had been more than her friend and partner—he was that irritating voice that filled in for her conscience when it took holidays, the patience and understanding she so desperately needed on a daily basis, the one person who knew how to make her smile.

Tears prickled at the corners of Enna's eyes, but she fiercely blinked them back, drawing her sleeve across her face. He would not want her to cry. With a sarcastic snort to herself, she imagined what he _would_ say: _"You needn't cry, Enna. It's not nearly so bad as you think. Aslan's got it in his plans for this war, you know—this'll probably help Calormen become our ally. Or perhaps Sabsestrin will see the grief his misdeeds have caused, and surrender immediately!"_

Enna couldn't see Aslan's paw in _this_.

Endrit stood up across from her, stretched once, and came around to sit at her side. "Don't look so glum, sister. You won't miss him any longer once morning comes around."

"You are very encouraging," Enna retaliated, rather wanting to hit him around the head.

"I am simply telling you how I feel."

"You're telling me how _I_ should feel."

"You know, Aramir, may he rest in peace, wouldn't wish you to carry on like this."

Tears gathered in Enna's eyes and began to threaten to drip, almost as if in spite of Endrit's words. It was all right for _her_ to think things like that. Hearing someone else say so, on the other hand, reminded her of Aramir's death all the more vividly. "Leave me be, Endrit," she forced out.

And so he did, returning to sit by Tamlyn.

But his departure broke the last defenses of Enna's resolve. _Aramir would not have let me be,_ she thought hysterically, and broke into tears. How could he be dead? She had seen him scarcely four hours ago! He had been hale, hearty, all smiles and freckles. The memory of him lying there on the Tisroc's cold marble floors, his face white and vacant, limbs slack, rushed forward without bidding, wrenching a painful knife of guilt in her proverbial gut. If she had just run…if she had just ignored Tamlyn…if she had just never come to Narnia in the first place!

The tears came without ceasing for Enna, try as she might to hold them in. It was as if the gilded cage she was accustomed to holding them in had shattered, been cast against a stone wall and destroyed. So much disappointment…so much guilt and remorse! What a way to spend one's last night!

And so, the sun set outside the bleak dungeon. Tashbaan retired to bed for the night, and the jackals began their distant howling, kept out of the city only by the high stone walls surrounding it. As for the four Archenlanders in the Tisroc's dungeon, they could only tell the passage of time by the heavying of their eyelids.

But suddenly, there came an echoing step in the corridor. Endrit heard it first, then Enna, then Tamlyn, who stirred sleepily and sat up. Could it be dawn already? Was this really the last time they'd see each other alive? Tamlyn reached for Enna's hand, and Enna gripped hers tightly.

A shadowy form came towards their cell. It was a tall man, broad-shouldered but lean, munching on what appeared to be an apple; keys jingled in his grip. At last, he stepped into the meager light of a nearby torch. Tamlyn gasped.

It was Aramir!

Enna flung herself to the door. "Aramir," she cried out, reaching through the bars for his hand.

Grinning, he put the apple away in his pocket and took her outstretched hand with both of his. "Hello, Enna. Are you ready?"

His words struck an inharmonious chord in Enna's head. Loosening her hands from his, she stepped back, a feverish sweat breaking out on her forehead. Aramir was no longer wearing his tarkhaan clothes—he was dressed as an Archenlander again, in fresh, white linen and unsoiled trousers, Arondight at his hip; his face was washed and the gash on his forehead was clean and a healthy pink. Tamlyn clamped onto Enna's hand, obviously realizing the same thing—the spirit of their dead companion had come to bring them with him to the afterlife!

"Why the big eyes?" Aramir asked, blinking as he looked between them. "You all look as though you've seen a ghost!"

"We have," Tamlyn whispered.

Aramir looked over his shoulder. "Where?"

"It's _you_," Enna said. She didn't know whether to be overjoyed or heartbroken. Here stood Aramir again, obviously in no pain, just as she remembered him. But seeing him in this unearthly form meant that he was _really_ gone, and that they were soon to follow him to the grave.

Aramir blinked at her. "What do you mean, 'me'?"

"You died," squeaked Tamlyn.

They all stared at each other for a moment or two before Aramir started laughing. "Me? Dead? Hardly!"

"What…what do you mean?" Endrit asked. "We saw you get killed!"

Aramir shook his head, still grinning. "I learned this trick from possums. I knew that if captured, we'd be all taken to prison and then executed. So I decided, when I saw that there was no further hope we'd escape, that if one of our number were to avoid prison, it would solve a few problems. The Calormenes thought they'd killed me—I hadn't thought _you_ would believe it, too!"

"You mean…" Enna breathed, "that you _faked_ your death?"

"Absolutely! And once night fell, I got out of that horrid mortuary, changed my clothes and washed a bit, and came right here."

"But…your wound!" Tamlyn said.

Aramir touched the puckered scar. "It seemed bad. But once I washed the blood away, it proved quite surface. Doesn't even hurt anymore! But it sure helped me get in without being noticed—no one expects me to be alive. See? I have the keys to your cell."

"Then get us out of here, man!" Endrit said with a laugh.

Still grinning easily, Aramir found the key and unlocked the door, pulling it open with a rusty squeak. Enna tumbled out of the cell before either Tamlyn or Endrit had a chance to move, and flung her arms around Aramir's neck, recalling all too clearly the anguish she'd felt on his part just a moment ago, believing she'd never see him again! But his arms around her were tight, his breath warmed her hair, and she felt the pulse in his neck against her temple.

"Never, _ever_ do that without advance warning again," she groaned, and trod purposely on his toes. "You had me quite troubled there for a time."

"She bawled her little eyes out for you," Endrit told him, peeling her away. "She and Tamlyn both."

"I never meant to distress _you_," Aramir said sincerely. "I thought you'd know I was all right!"

Enna grumbled and ducked her head to hide her foolish tears of relief. "Never mind that now. Let's get out of Tashbaan before it's too late."

"Right. I got our horses out of the stables, and they're waiting near the exit. Oh, and I nearly forgot—" Aramir stopped and dug in his pockets, withdrawing three gleaming red apples. "I thought you might be hungry."

Enna had never been more ravenous in her life. Sinking her teeth into the soft, sweet flesh of the fruit, she and the other three tiptoed down the corridor, up a flight of stairs, and out into the cool night air with no fuss. Indeed, their horses were waiting, and soon they were hurrying down into the main city, their way unhindered by the market crowds that had been there earlier in the day. The doors to the city were closed tight, but a word and a gleaming Archenlandian gild got them opened enough for the four horses to squeeze through. Thus, they escaped from Tashbaan safe and unbothered.

That is, until some eagle-eyed night watchman saw them leave the city. The alarm was sounded, and before the four of them had a chance to react, a sharp arrow whistled over Enna's head and buried itself in the riverbank.

"Fly!" Endrit roared.

They all kicked their mounts into gallops. More arrows began falling from the sky, striking closer and closer, but still Endrit bellowed, "Fly! Fly! Don't turn around—keep going! We'll be out of range in but a moment—!"

With a sickening thud, he lurched forward on his horse, straining for a handhold, then slowly slipped off and landed on the sandy ground. "Don't slow down, Enna!" he called as she reigned her horse in. "I'll catch up!"

She didn't want to heed him. But her brother urged her to go, and Aramir urged her to come, and so she at last did their bidding and gave her horse his head. Three riders thundered away along the rushing river, and gradually the archers on the city walls gave up and put their bows away.

"What a farewell!" Aramir blustered as they slid from their mounts to camp in the last cluster of vegetation before the desert. "Why did they shoot, I wonder?"

"Do you think they saw that we had escaped?" Enna mused.

"Hardly possible—we hadn't been gone that long."

"Perhaps they simply thought we were suspicious looking," said Tamlyn airily, bending at the river's edge to try and wash the dungeon filth off. "I've heard the Calormenes kill first and inquire later."

"That's an idea, I suppose," Enna conceded. She felt rather guilty that she'd so mistreated Endrit and Tamlyn in the dungeon—they were simply trying to deal with their own grief _and_ console her at the same time.

Aramir knelt and struck up a fire, building it high and blazing to combat the chill autumn air. "Well, there's no use in wondering now," he said. "Come and warm yourselves. Endrit will be here soon, and then we can eat a little and retire."

"I hope he's all right," Enna said, coming to sit by him. "He took a hard fall. I wonder what caused it?"

"A falter in his horse's step, I shouldn't wonder," Aramir replied. As he spoke, he pulled one of the blankets out from a satchel and draped it over Enna's shoulders. "Or perhaps a low-hanging branch we didn't see."

"That must be it." Enna drew the blanket about herself, patting his hand in thanks. "He looked rather pained."

"I hear hoof steps!" Tamlyn cried from the riverbank. "Here comes a horse!"

Enna and Aramir leapt to their feet. Sure enough, Endrit's horse came snorting into the firelight, dusty and dirty but otherwise unharmed. But there was something greatly amiss with the picture.

"Aramir," Enna breathed, "where's Endrit?"

His lips were thin. "I'll go see if I can find him. Stay here."

A sick feeling churned in the pit of Enna's stomach, and she clutched at Aramir's hand as he walked past. "Please," she said weakly, "please be careful. I…I feel poorly about this."

"I'll be careful," he replied, patting her hand. "I promise."

With this reassurance, he went back to his horse (which snorted with displeasure at the idea of being ridden again) and mounted, heading back the way they came.

Tamlyn came back from the riverside to dry by the fire; she hummed and Enna started to drift off to sleep as she leaned against a tree trunk. The next thing she knew, Tamlyn was shaking her awake. "I hear Aramir's horse," she said.

Enna sat up straight, rubbing her eyes. "I'll bet Endrit is _exhausted_."

The horse trotted into the firelight. Enna leapt to her feet with joy, but then frowned. She saw only Aramir atop the beast, no second rider. "Did you not find him?" she asked aloud, her stomach clenching.

Aramir dismounted silently.

"Aramir?"

He turned to her, face drawn and pallid. "Enna, come here a moment."

Enna rushed to his side. "What—what's going on—"

She saw his Adam's apple bob once or twice as he put his hands on her arms. "Enna," he began slowly, "I found him."

"I don't see him."

His lips thinned even more. "It wasn't a falter in his horse's step, after all."

"A branch."

"No. Worse. Enna, lass…he got an arrow. Right between his ribs."

Enna faltered back a step or two, the sudden rush of blood to her head causing her vision to blacken alarmingly. "But—he said—what about…"

"He was gone by the time I reached him."

"Gone?" Enna repeated dazedly. "What…what do you mean?"

Aramir sighed. "He _died_, Enna. Endrit was killed by a Calormene arrow."

The words hung noisily in the still night air. Behind them, Tamlyn dropped a flask of water with a resounding crash. A jackal howled in the distance and the horses shifted uneasily.

Enna laughed tensely, shaking her finger to and fro. "If—if this is a jest," she began.

Aramir took her arms firmly in his big hands, forcing her to look up in his face. "I would _never_ jest about such matters," he said.

"Then…then where is he?" Enna said shakily.

Aramir stared down at her for another moment or two before releasing her and turning to his horse. As he stepped aside, Enna saw for the first time a large, _man-sized_ bundle draped over Aramir's saddle, wrapped up in a travel stained cloak. Her heart faltered. Aramir took the heavy load and set it, grimacing with the strain, gently on the sandy ground. But even before he began to loosen the bindings, Enna realized she already knew what he would reveal.

Even so, she could not look away. The wool cloak fell away, revealing the very thing she dreaded: Endrit's face, white and still as marble, oddly slack and oddly empty. A lock of his auburn hair, usually neat, had fallen over his forehead, and Enna found herself brushing it aside. His flesh was still springy under her fingertips, and held yet a touch of warmth, but Enna knew. Her brother was dead, and this time, it was no mockery.

She sat back and let Aramir cover him up again. Tamlyn flung herself to the grass and wept loudly, but to Enna's distant horror, no tears would come.

"Are you well?" Aramir said gently.

Enna nodded. "It's odd."

"What is?"

"I…" Enna broke off, looking down at her slightly numb fingers. "I can't seem to…to _feel_ anything, just yet. All I can think of is…what am I to say to Reselda?"

Aramir shifted his weight and pulled her into his arms. Enna went reluctantly, but as soon as she settled her cheek on his firm shoulder, she felt that gilded cage begin to break.

"You mustn't worry about that, lass," he said tenderly. "It is _my_ responsibility, you hear? I will tell Lady Roscommon. I will take the blame."

"But it isn't your fault," Enna protested. "It's _mine_. My uncle, my war, my fault."

Aramir hugged her tighter. "I know that. But it doesn't mean I'm not willing to bear the anguish in your place."

Enna could not hold it in any longer. Weakly, she turned her face into Aramir's soft, clean tunic and wept for Endrit like she had never wept before.

--

_A/N: It wasn't Aramir I was talking about last chapter, was it!_


	36. Chapter Thirty Six

_EDIT: In case you didn't notice, FFN's interactive options (PMs, uploads, reviews) were down for quite some time over the weekend, so some of the lateness is not my fault. :)_

_A/N: Phew! A bit late, but I made this chapter extra long to make up for it. _

_As a side note, do you know what my mama said? She said that I should stop writing fanfiction and get something published! COLLECTIVE GASP! I said no way, of course, so I'll be sticking around for some time, yet. ;)_

_In other news: anyone here on Facebook? 'Cause Schmo and Sushi is now on it, too! Become a fan by following the link on our profile page. ALSO: think you know Schmo and Sushi? We have a handy-dandy wiki now, so I'm working on getting all our stories and characters on there so you guys can use it as a handy reference. It's a lot better than sifting through hundreds of chapters to find information, that's for sure! So anyway, I need help editing and writing, so if you have spare time I'd love it if you'd hop over there. (The link's on our profile.)_

_And now, on to the chapter!_

--

Enna wanted to bring Endrit's body back to Archenland, to give him the kind of burial their mother had been denied. But eventually, Aramir and Tamlyn reminded her of the pure impracticality of the situation: it would take them several weeks to return to Anvard, with the journey through the blazing desert, and it was not realistic to imagine they could stand the odor of a moldering body for that long.

"You mean…we are to leave him here?" Enna squeaked, looking out at the vast yellow sands of the desert. "In Calormen?"

"We have no choice, Enna," Aramir replied. "It is better here than back by the river, or even farther north. The heat and dryness of the air will preserve his body nicely. It costs many gilds to be embalmed in such a manner in Archenland."

Enna sniffled miserably. Such disposal of her brother's body only augmented the guilt that roared in the pit of her stomach. Reselda would doubtless blame her for her husband's death, but the distance of his grave would mean both she and her son would never be able to visit it. Enna was familiar with the pain of such removal—even though she knew now that he wasn't her father, she still missed being able to visit Vatorian's grave.

But she knew that Aramir was right. It would be disgraceful to bring Endrit back in the throes of decay, and unhealthy for them to do so. "Very well," she whispered at last. "Let us get it over with."

Tamlyn kissed her hands gratefully as Aramir nodded and went to Endrit's horse to retrieve his shield. "I will dig," he said when Enna reached for it.

He knelt in the sand and began to gouge a deep hole with the side of the shield. Enna watched for a moment, then dropped to his side and helped, dragging scoops of sand out with her bare hands. Tamlyn just stood by and wept noiselessly.

At last, their faces sweaty with exertion and the heat of the day, Enna and Aramir began to draw out cold, dark sand. Aramir wiped his brow and said, "This will do."

"Be gentle with him," Enna whispered as he went to retrieve the body.

Tamlyn shrank back from the smell, already offensive, as Aramir passed her with the load in his arms. Carefully and compassionately, he nestled Endrit in the trench, pointing his head north towards Archenland; Enna had to bite down hard on her tongue to repel the tears she felt threatening to spill over.

"May we say a few words?" Tamlyn said as Aramir straightened.

"By all means."

Enna felt rather offended that she hadn't thought of this first, but before she had a chance to really feel guilty, Tamlyn said, "Oh Lord Endrit. I remember seeing you first when I was just a lass in bootkins. You were a page for my father, and I recall him saying one to my mother, 'That lad will do something great someday, mark my words.' And so you have. You protected us with your dying breath, and we shall never forget you. Rest in peace."

"Well spoken," Aramir told her.

"Now you must say something."

He cleared his throat and bowed his head. "Endrit, I did not know you well, but I do know that you were a worthy man. I shall do all that you asked of me, and more, in your honor. Rest in peace."

This suited the quiet lad perfectly. But Enna found, as the two of them looked at her, that she, for all her tears and grief, could think of nothing nearly so eloquent to say.

She bit her lip. "Endrit…I wish I could say I knew you better. I wish I could say I loved you like the brother you are. But we were robbed of the chance to become true brother and sister, to become a family—and, while it's not fair, I swear to remember you, to love your wife and son as though they were my own family." And here, her mind stopped creating ideas, and she trailed off.

Aramir squeezed her arm briefly, but Enna felt as though she'd let them all down. As he knelt to place Endrit's sword atop his chest as was the custom for all warriors, however, she caught his arm. "Wait," she said. "Let me have the sword."

He gave it to her without question. Carefully, Enna took the turban that Endrit had worn, still wadded up in her satchel, and began to wrap the sword securely. "I know that it is expected for warriors to be buried with their sword and shield," she said softly, "but…I think there is someone Endrit would prefer to have it."

"Erec," said Aramir, smiling.

"And no other," Enna said. She put the bound sword up atop her horse. When her nephew came of age, she would present the weapon to him and bid him use it as his own—she could give him little else. But she could imagine Endrit nodding with pleasure at the idea that his sword, the one that had won him so many victories, would continue on in the hand of his son.

Aramir handed her the silver Archenlandian shield when she came away from the beast. The dished metal was cool in her hands as she knelt and placed it atop Endrit's shrouded head, and when she released it, it sank quietly into the soft sands.

"Rest in peace," she said.

Aramir helped her up, and then began to carefully cover the veiled body with sand. Enna watched him work, surrounding and burying her brother as gently as his big hands could make it; his freckled face was solemn and respectful even as he frowned in concentration. He was so good to her. He might have made her do the interring, saying that it was her brother and so her duty, but no, he let her stand and mourn uninterrupted while he sweated. Even Endrit was not so kind to her.

Suddenly, quite unexpectedly, and with an intensity that she felt physically, Enna found a name for that burning fondness, the trembly delight she always felt in his presence.

But no. She could not think on that now. Not here in the desert, and certainly not at a tomb!

"Are you all right?" Tamlyn asked, shattering her concentration. "You look flushed."

"I'm fine," Enna replied. "Just…thirsty."

Aramir dusted his hands off and gave her his flask. "Drink as much as you need. There's plenty to go around."

Enna accepted his offer, but only allowed herself a sip. She could not look at him. She was queen of Narnia, and with that title came a husband. A _husband._ Endrit would have found it so ironic if he had known his sister could easily go the path of their mother.

--

The journey back to Archenland did not seem to take as long as the journey from. Enna hated to think it was because they had one fewer journeyer, eating less of the food, drinking less of the water, but as it had taken them a fortnight to reach the desert from Aberwood Forest, they arrived there again in half that time. Once again, they were accosted in the pathway, but Tamlyn did not scream, and no one was dragged from their horses. Rather, Robin himself burst out of the wood and greeted them personally.

"Well met, friends!" he exclaimed, clasping hands with Aramir as though they had known each other forever. "How went your ambassadorial journey of Such Great Importance?"

At first, Enna thought he was mocking them, but then she saw his genuinely interested smile and realized he couldn't possibly know of the debacle that had been their voyage. "It failed miserably," she answered.

Robin's grin faded momentarily. "Oh. I _am_ sorry to hear it. But come—you must stay the night with us. How extraordinarily exhausted you all look! I daresay my food and my women will brighten you right up, eh?"

His men chortled and elbowed each other with roguish winks.

"Thank you kindly," said Aramir, "but we couldn't trespass on your hospitality. You understand our haste."

"Of course," replied Robin. "But see? Night is falling shortly, anyway—you might as well stay somewhere warm and comfortable. We will let you leave straightway in the morning."

Try as she might to resist, Enna found the notion of hot food and a warm bed more than tempting. "I think…I think we might stay one night," she said to Aramir.

He nodded. "All right. We'll stay tonight."

"Excellent!" Robin clapped his hands together. "Come, come—get down from your horses and let's take you for some food, eh?"

Tamlyn squeaked in delight, then blushed rather red.

Aramir leapt down from his horse, then helped Enna despite her protests. "I hope we're not intruding," he said.

"Intruding?" Robin threw back his head and laughed. "My friends, when one lives an outlaw's life, one learns to enjoy intrusions! Now, let's to sup. Watch your heads, mind."

And he led them into the woods, his shoulders back and rooster's feather bobbing merrily as he marched along through the brambles. It was not much easier for the other three to manage than before, though now Aramir went in front with one hand out before him to catch low branches and the other behind to give Enna something to brace herself against.

Soon, they came into the enormous clearing that Robin and his men called home. The last time Enna had come here, the sky above the trees had been black as pitch. This time, however, the sun still shone through the trees, illuminating the glade with a gentle, reddish light. Crisp, newly fallen leaves crunched under their feet.

"Ah, the days grow shorter," said Robin with a deep breath. "I shall tell you, Puck's hot ale is much appreciated come this time of year. Now—how shall we feed you? Are you very hungry?"

"Pardon," said Tamlyn meekly, "but we've had nothing but dry beef and water these few weeks."

Robin burst out in laughter, and beckoned over John Small. "Did you hear the little lass?" he said, wiping his eyes.

"Aye, Robin," said John, his ruddy face even redder with mirth under his beard.

"D'you know what that means?"

"…Ought I to?"

"Of course, man! Get our friends anything but dry beef and water to eat!"

A look of realization grew on John's face, and he hurried off to do Robin's bidding. '

Enna had to smile at this. "You are very kind, Robin," she said.

He tweaked his short beard with both hands, winking. "Last time we met, Queenie, you called me a…oh, what was it? Aye—a 'real brute,' I think were your words."

"I spoke in haste," Enna mumbled, feeling her face heat up.

"I should say," Robin retorted. "But, lo—that's behind us, now. Friends are friends! Come, share in my table—John's got the food!"

He led them over to a wooden plank stretched between two barrels; sawed-off stumps served as seats. Despite this rudimentary eating surface, the food that John was busy setting on it made Enna's mouth water: a rich stew with potatoes bobbing on the surface, a few loaves of crusty bread, and a sloshing pitcher of red mead.

Before anyone could say anything, Tamlyn rushed to the table and tore herself a hunk of bread. Enna and Aramir and Robin blinked and watched the delicate little palace dweller finish off a good half a loaf of bread by herself, until halfway through a bite, she glanced up and said, "Well, aren't you going to join me?"

"You seem hungry, lass," Robin commented diplomatically as they went to sit with her.

"It's all right, Robin," John interrupted rather fiercely. "I happen to fancy ladies with healthy appetites!"

Tamlyn looked at John out of the corner of her eye and blushed demurely, which the bearded man noticed and answered with a blush and bashful titter of his own. As they turned back to their food, Aramir and Enna glanced at each other and had to stifle their snorts of laughter in large gulps of mead.

When everyone was full, Robin leaned back and put his booted feet on the nearest stump. "What an excellent meal. I must be sure to thank Prunella one of these days. Say…when you came through here last, you had a young lad with you—Roscommon, his surname. What happened, did you loose him in Tashbaan?"

Enna had just begun to feel happily sleepy, but at Robin's words, she felt wide awake again and rather ill. She opened her mouth dully, but Aramir set down his cup and squeezed her hand once. "He was killed by the Calormenes," he said.

Robin's feet slipped off the stump. "By Pire and Olvin! I had no idea! Please, accept my condolences. I am very sorry. What happened?"

Aramir looked at Enna for permission; she nodded, and he proceeded to tell Robin and John all that had occurred in Tashbaan. By the end of his tale, Robin's face was drawn and somber and John was sniffling into a cup of mead.

"How awful," Robin said sincerely. "I am very, very sorry for your loss."

"Not only that," said Enna, "but we are now without Calormene assistance in this war. King Lune said their cooperation was the key to winning against the Galmanians and Terebinthians. I don't know what we shall do."

She must have looked dreadfully sad, for Robin patted her hand awkwardly and John offered her more mead. "There, there, Queenie," said Robin kindly. "I wish I could help more, but take this bit of comfort: if the Calormenes refused audience with Archenlanders, you can be sure that they will do the same to any Galmanians or Terebinthians that attempt to do the same. An Archenlandian barbarian is the same as an island barbarian, in their books."

Enna's frown loosened of its own volition. "Oh…! I hadn't thought of it like that!"

Robin smiled. "See? It can't be nearly as bad as you think."

Her frown returned. "I regret to contradict you, Robin, but it _is_ as bad. Narnia _must_ win this war if she wants to retain the power she has, and if Narnia fails, so will the North. Yet we have fewer men."

"That may be so," said Robin, "and I am sincerely sorry, but at least you have the advantage of fighting a defensive war."

"You say 'you' as though you do not support Archenland," Enna said bitterly, tears of frustration and exhaustion springing to her eyes.

Aramir suddenly yawned loudly and pointedly. "By the lion, am I tired!"

"Oh, aye!" said Robin with a smart clap of his hands. "I've kept you long. I'll have beds set up. Prunella! Oh! Prunella, darling!"

Enna had expected, from the way Robin spoke of her, for Prunella to be a young peasant beauty—but no one heeded his call except a fat, ruddy-faced middle-aged matron, clutching her skirts and waddling over to the table. "What is it you're bellowing abou', Robin Goodfellow?" she grumbled, dabbing her sweaty face.

"Prunella, love," Robin said to her, "we have guests tonight."

"I have eyes in me head, Robin."

"Aye, well, they would like a place to stay for the night. Would you be a dear and make the alder suitable for sleeping?"

Prunella didn't answer, but walked away grousing to herself under her breath.

"Er…" said Aramir, "is Prunella your…?"

"Cook?" replied Robin brightly. "Indeed she is! And a fantastic one, at that. She's married to one of my yeomen. A rather mediocre one he is, I'm afraid, but he was a package deal with Prunella, and so I took him on. Who am I to refuse excellent nosh? Now, while we wait…"

He reached deep into his pocket and pulled out a small set of pipes. "Do you sing, Queenie?"

Enna shook her head.

"Well, then, what about you, little lass?" Robin asked.

"I used to take lessons, I admit," Tamlyn answered meekly.

"Ah! Excellent. Tell me, then, do you know this one…" Robin took a deep breath and played a few lilting notes.

"Oh, aye!" Tamlyn said. "I know it well."

Robin grinned. "Then, sing along!"

Tamlyn looked to Enna for permission before nodding and opening her mouth.

_"Wrth ddringo drwy'r rhedyn i goppa Garn Fadryn,_

_Cyweiriaf fy nhelyn i ganu i Fôn:_

_Daw deigryn i'm llygad wrth wel'd cartre' nghariad,_

_A sieryd fy nghaniad mai lleddf fydd fy nhôn."_

Tamlyn's voice was bell-like and poignant, and even though Enna couldn't understand the words, she clearly understood the plaintive emotion. Robin's eyebrows were raised even as he played, and John sagged on his hand, open-mouthed in admiration beneath his beard.

"Excellent use of the ancient tongue," Robin said once he finished the pipe portion. "I must say I expected you to sing in the common speech, but your version was lovely, too."

"'Lovely'?" John blustered suddenly. "'Lovely'? It was _exquisite_!"

Robin blinked. "As you'll have it, then, John! It was exquisite."

Tamlyn blushed quite red and hid her face behind her hands, giggling madly. "Thank you!"

"The beds're made, Robin!" came Prunella's shout from somewhere in the clearing.

"Ah," said Robin. "There we have it. If you wish to stay up with us, we would be glad to have the extra company."

"Oh, may I?" Tamlyn pleaded. "I'm not tired a wink, I swear by Olvin!"

Enna was not happy to have to sleep by herself in a strange place (Aramir was sure to accept Robin's offer, also), but she nodded. "Very well."

Tamlyn beamed. "Will you join us, too, Enna?" Robin asked.

"I think not. I'm rather tired."

"Completely understandable. You, Aramir?"

Aramir looked at Enna briefly, then said, "No—I think I'll retire, as well."

"Of course. You'll all be staying in that alder." Robin pointed dead ahead at an enormous mature tree with a lovely wood construction cleverly built amidst the branches and trunks. "You'll find the ladder at the foot."

Aramir nodded. "Thank you again."

"Think nothing of it. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

He helped Enna stand, and they went to the indicated tree. "Well…the quarters are rather high up, aren't they?" he said with a weak chuckle as he gazed up the ladder.

Enna nudged him out of the way and started up, saying, "Oh, don't be afraid. You're a sailor! It's just like climbing the ratlines on a ship."

"Just like climbing the ratlines," Aramir repeated as he climbed along behind her.

All went well as they went up together. Once, Enna's foot slipped from a rung quite harmlessly, but Aramir clamped onto her ankle with an iron grip and refused to let go until she stepped onto the wood portico.

"There," Enna said gently, taking hold of his hands and helping him up behind her. "All's well."

Aramir's face was rather ashen under his freckles. "I shall not be content until I am back on land."

"Then you shall get no sleep tonight." Enna opened the door to the sleeping chamber and stepped in; there were three straw mattresses with fluffy white pillows and mounds of warm-looking blankets. Just looking at them made Enna feel faint with exhaustion.

"Oh, I think I shall sleep very well tonight," Aramir laughed, his apprehension disappearing. He went over to the wide, glass-less window and threw the curtains aside, letting the last rays of the setting sun stream in.

The light made Enna's eyes hurt. Blinking in pain, she sank down onto one of the mats, untying her muddy boots and throwing them to the side. "Please…close the curtains."

Aramir looked at her, but he drew the curtains back over the window. "I'm sorry."

"It's no fault of yours," she sighed. "I'm just…well, I'm so tired everything hurts." Even loosening her snarled plait made her shoulders ache, but she winced and went through with the motion.

"You must be very tired, indeed."

"Indeed. Now please…look away for a moment."

He obligingly turned his back and unbuckled Arondight from around his waist while Enna loosening the stays of her dust-stained gown and pulled it off, shivering in only her green underdress. "I'm decent," she said at last, sitting down on her mattress.

Aramir set his sword down at the side of his bed and looked at her once, then a second time. "You look absolutely drained," he commented.

Enna forced a dry chuckle. "I am."

Frowning, he came and sat to her and put a big, cool hand over her forehead, then against her blazing cheek, sending shivers that were quite ill-judged up and down Enna's spine. "You're burning up," he announced.

"But I'm absolutely freezing."

"Burning up with _fever_, lass. I think you're ill."

"I'm not ill," Enna retorted, fingering the piece of seaglass that still hung around her neck. "I'm a very healthy person."

Aramir used the hand that still held her chin to turn her face toward his. "Even very healthy people get contagions from time to time," he told her firmly. "In your case, I shouldn't wonder why you didn't fall ill earlier. You've been through a good deal. I'm not blind, you know—I've seen how poorly you sleep."

Enna brushed his hand away from her face and sank into him, hiding her tears in his tunic. "I can't help it. Every time I close my eyes, I think of Endrit, and my father and my mother, and Reselda, and Peter and Edmund and Lucy, and Narnia…and Sabsestrin. I just wish everything to be normal again!"

"It'll be over soon enough," he soothed, reaching with one arm to pull a warm wool blanket over her shoulders. "We're halfway to Anvard. If Galma is already in Calormen, chances are there'll be an encounter in the north with the other part of the army soon, and that might just decide the war. It could be over within the fortnight."

She didn't want to think about the war being over. As much as she hated the bloodshed and the fright, she hated even more the idea of going back to Narnia with Peter and leaving Aramir and Archenland for good. "I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight," she said against his shoulder with a mirthless laugh.

"Well, maybe if you'd calm down a bit and put your head on a pillow, you'd think differently," Aramir replied.

Enna was loath to go, but he drew her away and pulled the covers over her quite insistently. Too tired to resist, she stretched out and settled into the soft mattress as Aramir piled blankets on top of her. "You are treating me like a child, you know."

"Perhaps I am." He arranged the blankets so they lay neatly. "And I'm sorry for it, if it offends you. But sometimes it's pleasant to be treated kindly when one's ill."

She couldn't help remember the last time she was sick, on Christmas Day, and he came and kept her company instead of enjoying himself. "Perhaps you're right."

"Now, lass," he said, reaching over and brushing a stray curl from her cheek. "Would you like me to sing you a lullaby?"

He was joking, that was obvious, but the thought of his low voice lulling her to sleep made the pit of Enna's stomach grow pleasantly warm. "It isn't nice to tease, you know," she told him.

"Well, then, budge over," Aramir replied, and he lay down beside her and tucked his arms under his head. "Do you have any requests?"

Enna was mute with disbelief, stunned that he was humoring her whims, and secretly thrilled that his lanky, warm frame was stretched out alongside her on the narrow mattress. "Hardly," she whispered.

"Then I'll pick my own," he said. "And you've got to promise to close your eyes and try to sleep, or I'll stop right away."

"I promise." Enna didn't want to, but she closed her eyes anyway.

He cleared his throat.

_"'I,' said the little leatherwing bat_

_'I'll tell to you the reason that_

_The reason that I fly by night_

_Is because I've lost my heart's delight.'_

_Howdy dowdy diddle-um day_

_Howdy dowdy diddle-um day_

_Howdy dowdy diddle-um day_

_Hey, de lee-lee lie-lee low_

_"'I,' said the blackbird sittin' on a chair_

_'Once I courted a lady fair._

_She proved fickle and turned her back_

_And ever since then I've dressed in black.'_

_Howdy dowdy diddle-um day_

_Howdy dowdy diddle-um day_

_Howdy dowdy diddle-um day_

_Hey, de lee-lee lie-lee low_

_"'I,' said the woodpecker sittin' on a fence_

_'Once I courted a handsome wench._

_She got scared and from me fled_

_And ever since then my head's been red.'_

_Howdy dowdy diddle-um day_

_Howdy dowdy diddle-um day_

_Howdy dowdy diddle-um day_

_Hey, de lee-lee lie-lee low_

_"'I,' said the little turtle dove_

_'I'll tell you how to win her love:_

_Court her night and court her day_

_Never give her time to say "Oh, nay!"'"_

_Howdy dowdy diddle-um day_

_Howdy dowdy diddle-um day_

_Howdy dowdy diddle-um day_

_Hey, de lee-lee lie-lee low…"_


	37. Chapter Thirty Seven

Enna woke with sunlight in her eyes. Aramir was seated on his nearby mattress, pulling his boots on, and Tamlyn stood at the treehouse's window, saying, "Your Majesty has slept late" in a rather testy tone.

"Well, I hadn't meant to," Enna sighed, rubbing her aching head.

Tamlyn came to her bed and pulled down the covers. "You and Sir Aramir both, Your Majesty. You have quite missed breakfast."

"I tried to tell you Enna is ill," Aramir started, but Tamlyn gave him such a withering look that he raised his eyebrows and said no more.

"I'm sorry," Enna said.

"Well, you must dress twice as fast to make up for lost time." Tamlyn dug in one of the satchels and drew out Enna's last clean frock, as wrinkled as it now was, and threw it at her. It hit Enna in the face, and she frowned at Tamlyn.

"Who put the bee in _your_ bonnet, Tam?" she said, attempting to ease the crick in her sore neck.

Tamlyn gave her and Aramir one last wrathful look before letting herself out of the chamber and beginning the downward climb to the ground.

"I do not think ale agrees with our little palace mouse," Aramir said, reaching around his waist to struggle with Arondight.

His voice seemed awfully loud to Enna, and she winced as she slowly pulled the thin frock on over her underdress, shivering in the cold autumn air. "I have never seen her so displeased."

Aramir shrugged. "It will pass. How do you feel this morning?"

"Hardly better," she admitted. "I'm loath to leave bed. It was quite warm."

He went over to her and felt her face in the same manner as the night before, his callused palm gently supporting her chin and cheek. "Your fever is the same."

Enna sighed. "Ah, well. I shall have to endure it."

"I wonder if you will be able to sit a horse all day."

"I'll tie myself to the saddle, if it comes to that."

"Then we shall come into Anvard and I shall be promptly arrested on suspicion of capturing the queen of Narnia. No, we can't have that—you must share with either Tamlyn or myself."

"Tamlyn would sooner push me off then let me ride with her," Enna said dryly. "I suppose it must be you."

"I suppose it must. Now, do you have everything?"

Enna looked around the room a final time. "Aye, I think so."

"Then we should go down. I think we might reach Anvard within the week, if we hurry."

The idea of seeing Lucy and King Lune and solid city walls again gave Enna a bit of energy despite her feverishness, and she managed to climb all the way down the rope ladder before her strength waned again.

Robin Goodfellow, John Small, Much, Adale, Blande, Stutely, and a dozen or so unnamed yeomen of Robin's met her at the bottom.

"Good morrow, Queenie!" said Robin brightly, tossing her the reins to her horse. "We were beginning to wonder if we'd have to light the tree ablaze to wake you."

"With all due respect," Aramir said, landing with a puff of leaves and dirt beside her, "Her Majesty is a little ill."

"Ill!" exclaimed Robin. "Well, that is another matter entirely. Forgive my impudence, Queenie, and accept my get-well wishes."

Enna, who was just opening her mouth to scold Aramir for telling Robin, froze and looked at the green-clad outlaw. "And just why are you being so courteous to me, Robin Goodfellow?" she asked warily.

Robin grinned. "Doesn't miss a wink, that lass," he said to Aramir, who raised an eyebrow.

"John," came Tamlyn's voice, "don't forget to bring blankets! It snows in Anvard very early in the season."

Enna and Aramir blinked and looked at Robin, noticing for the first time that he and his men were clothed rather differently than before, with thicker tunics, cloaks, high boots, swords, knives, and bows and arrows, and all held the reins to dusty but well-fitted horses.

Robin shrugged and spread his arms out. "Well, I guess the puss is out of the bag, now. Your Majesty, feast your eyes upon the latest addition to the forces of good." And he bobbed into a low bow, sweeping his rooster-feathered cap from his head. "Some of my men and I have decided to go with you to Anvard and protect our homeland. And if we are to be campmates, Queenie, oughtn't we be more obliging to each other?"

Enna couldn't speak, so overcome she was with emotion, so Aramir said, "Thank you, friends. You won't regret it."

"I should hope not," said Robin. "Well, now—Anvard awaits, doesn't it! Let's mount!"

Aramir nodded to Enna and mounted his horse before giving her a hand as she clambered up to sit before him on the saddle. Tamlyn gave them both a very black look, but before Enna had a chance to say something about it, young Much pulled a blanket from a satchel and gave it shyly to her.

As Enna wrapped the blanket about her and snuggled into it and Aramir, Robin gave a signal and the whole band began to move out. Almost simultaneously, he threw back his head and sang out, "I have a song to sing, o!"

And a few of the yeomen sang back, "Sing us your song, o!", their voices echoing off the dropping trees. The words stirred something deep inside Enna's memory, and she sat up a bit straighter as they broke into the forest.

_"It is sung to the moon by a love-lorn loon_

_"Who fled from the mocking throng-o—_

_"It's the song of a merry man moping mum_

_"Whose soul was sad and whose glance was glum_

_"Who sipped no sup and who craved no crumb_

_"As he sighed…for the love of a lady._

_"Hey-di, hey-di, misery me, lack-a-day-di_

_"He sipped no sup and he craved no crumb_

_"As he sighed for the love of a lady."_

As he sang, Enna remembered, and as the yeomen joined in for the refrain, she dared to quietly pick up the complex harmony. Her natural voice was far from fine, but if she concentrated hard enough, she could mimic her mother's voice; it had been her who had sung this song to her for as long as she could remember.

"How do you know this song?" Robin asked, astonished. "I could have sworn from your accent you were an islander. This is an Archenlandian child's song."

Enna smiled—things were now making sense that had never made sense before. "My mother sang it."

"Hm," said Robin, and returned to the song.

Aramir's hand released the reins for a brief moment to squeeze Enna's before returning to its duty.

_"I have a song to sing, o! (What is your song, o?)_

_"It is sung with the ring of the songs maids sing_

_"Who loved with a love life-long-o_

_"It's a song of a merry maid peerly proud_

_"Who loved a lord and who laughed aloud_

_"At the moan of the merry man, moping mum_

_"Whose soul was sad and whose glance was glum_

_"Who sipped no sup and who craved no crumb_

_"As he sighed for the love of a lady._

_"I have a song to sing, o! (Sing me your song, o!)_

_"It is sung to the knell of a church-yard bell_

_"And a doleful dirge ding-dong-o_

_"It's a song of a popinjay bravely born_

_"Who turned up his noble nose with scorn_

_"At the humble merry maid peerly proud_

_"Who loved a lord and who laughed aloud_

_"At the moan of a merry man, moping mum_

_"Whose soul was sad and whose glance was glum_

_"Who sipped no sup and who craved no crumb_

_"As he sighed…for the love of a lady._

_"I have a song to sing, o!_

_"It is sung with a sigh and a tear in the eye for it tells of a righted wrong-o_

_"It's a song of the merry maid once so gay_

_"Who turned on her heel and tripped away_

_"From the peacock popinjay bravely born_

_"who turned up his noble nose with scorn_

_"At the humble heart that he did not prize_

_"So she begged on her knees with downcast eyes_

_"For the love of the merry man, moping mum_

_"Whose soul was sad and whose glance was glum_

_"Who sipped no sup and who craved no crumb_

_"As he sighed…for the love of a lady._

_"Hey-di, hey-di, misery me, lack-a-day-de,_

_"His pains were o'er and he sighed no more_

_"For he lived…in the love of a lady."_

--

The band took a brief rest about two hours after noon by the banks of a rushing river. The men set to stretching their legs and letting their horses rest, but Tamlyn leapt down from her saddle and took a few flasks down to the riverbank. Still swaddled in her blanket despite the warm sun, Enna took it upon herself to follow.

"Why are you so displeased with me, Tam?" she asked just as Tamlyn bent over to place a flask under the clear, babbling water.

Tamlyn shot her a dark look from under her arm, but didn't answer.

Enna sighed. "Lady Tamlyn, I shall have to _order_ you to tell me if you do not do it willingly."

"Then order me to."

"Very well. I order you to tell me, just as you would as if we were girls in the same village school. We are not very far in age, you know."

Tamlyn straightened sharply, her fine blond plait whipping around in the crisp air as she turned to look at Enna. "As you wish, _Majesty,_" she said scathingly.

Enna drew back from her harsh tone.

The younger girl looked first down at her booted feet in the cold water, then put her hands at her hips, still fixing Enna with the same hawkish look. "As queen of a kingdom, Majesty," she said through her teeth, "you are held to a moral standard that is higher than common folk—aye, even us noblemen."

"I do not understand. What have I done that is immoral?"

Tamlyn laughed humorlessly. "I came into the treehouse late last night, Majesty. And what should I see, but _you_, in bed with one of your knights! I am _disgusted,_ Majesty—disgusted that you would cuckold your husband, forsake his trust while he is at war!"

Enna stared at Tamlyn. "When—when was this?"

"You were both already asleep," Tamlyn said scornfully. "But I knew. I knew."

"You're wrong, Tamlyn," Enna said hastily. "I was ill and having trouble sleeping, so he sang me a lullaby. I fell asleep before he finished, and my only guess is that he fell asleep, as well! I _swear_ to you, it was not as it seemed."

Tamlyn's lips thinned, and Enna began to have hope that she would concede. "Perhaps it is as you say," she said at last.

Enna sighed with relief. "Thank—"

"But that is not all," Tamlyn went on sharply. "Perhaps the situation was not as physically dastardly as I initially thought. But Majesty, I am not a child. I know full well tenderness when I see it. I have never met King Peter, but I am bound to guess you do not love him as you do your _knight_. You may not carry on a carnal liaison, but your affair is emotional all the same—and I consider that graver than any other marital sin."

And with that, she turned on her heel and stomped back up the bank, leaving Enna fighting tears of shame beside the rushing river.


	38. Chapter Thirty Eight

_A/N: Sorry this is so late! I started both my senior year of high school and the two college classes I registered for this week—and already have two papers from the English class due Wednesday! So I've been really busy reading Socrates and writing responses, not to mention the homework from the history course AND regular high school AND the responsibilities of being the editor of the school newspaper, senior class representative, active in my church, AND working as an intern at a local museum, AND college and scholarship applications. Whew!_

_Anyway! All that is to say I appreciate you guys anticipating new chapters, but I would be grateful if you could stop PMing and reviewing SOLELY to inform me I'm taking too long to update. I love that you're excited—really! It warms my heart!—but as I am a writer first and foremost, it kills me when I don't have time to work on "Taming the Tides." Constant reminders of what I'm sacrificing to be a good student just does not help matters. I WILL NEVER ABANDON THIS STORY!_

_So anyhoo, thank you so much for your consideration in this matter, and I hope you'll bear with me as I settle into this new schedule. :)_

--

"I'd quite forgotten how beautiful Anvard is."

These touching words were spoken by Robin Goodfellow as they gazed down upon the city. However, his companions were not moved—rather, they shook their heads in exasperation. "Robin," said John, "it's quite dark out."

The band of travelers was standing on the last hill before the rushing Archen River, glittering dimly in the pale autumn moonlight. It had taken them two whole days of riding to reach the city, and still they were forced to travel into the night to make it. As such, Anvard was just glimmers of light on the opposite bank, and a dark shadow under the stars.

"Oh, I _do_ hope they have not closed the city gates," said Tamlyn worriedly.

"I think we might have more worries than if the city gates are closed, friends," came Robin's voice.

"What is it?" said Enna sleepily, daring to expose her cheeks and nose to the biting fall air.

"Did you mention something about Terebinthia surrounding this our fair capital when you left, Queenie?" Robin replied slowly.

"Aye…"

He smacked his lips. "Well, they're still there. And I don't recall their forces being quite as numerous."

The yeomen began to murmur to each other in low voices, and Aramir nudged his horse closer to the crest of the hill so he and Enna could see down into the shallow valley. Sure enough, there were hundreds of campfires flickering down on the banks, stretching up and down the river as far as the eye could see. "You don't think Terebinthia…" Enna began.

"Joined up with its ally?" Aramir finished grimly. "Aye. I believe that is the case."

"Oh, what are we to do?" Tamlyn whimpered.

Someone shushed her. "We must keep our voices down," said Stutely softly. "I'll bet a gild they shoot first and query later."

"There's always what we did last time," Enna offered, hastily lowering her voice. "My brother, may he rest in peace, and I pretended we were rich noblefolk leaving Anvard after a weekend of socialization."

"She pretended to be quite drunk," Tamlyn said with a touch of disapproval.

Behind Enna, Aramir quickly stifled a snort of laughter.

"I do not think that befitting for this occasion," Robin said wryly. "Rather, it looks as though they are not inclined to let _anyone_ through, tipsy or not. Everyone is carrying spears and shields, and there are archers sitting on the banks of the river with their bows aimed towards the city gates."

"Are they under siege, Robin?" came the voice of one of the yeomen.

"Aye. I fear it's so."

Enna was not expecting this answer from Robin Goodfellow; she had been waiting for a sardonic witticism or sassy retort from the irreverent outlaw. The fact that he was grim and humorless gave Enna a sickly feeling in the pit of her stomach—if he was worried, that meant it was really as bad as she had dreaded!

"Well, we can't ride through the camp," said Aramir. "That much is clear."

"We shall fly, then!" Robin said scornfully. "We cannot get to the riverbank, and even if we managed, they would shoot us the moment they saw us at the gates. I cannot believe it—two days' journey, only to be checked at the last possible moment."

"You're giving up?" Enna asked in astonishment. "Just like that?"

"What do you suggest, then, Queenie?" Robin retorted.

Enna fell silent, chastened.

"Here, now," said Aramir. "Let's not take our frustrations out on one another. I say we camp here tonight, or perhaps farther back in the trees, and wait for morning. Perhaps an opportunity will avail itself then, when the sun is out and we have rested."

There came a sigh. "The lad speaks truth, I regret to announce," said Robin dully. "Men, clear a space for us in that glade there. Build no fire—we can't risk it."

Together, they turned their horses and retreated down the slope into the brushy woods, where Robin's yeomen set to clearing a sort of small natural opening in the forest of branches and soggy leaves. Robin gathered a bundle of twigs and set fire to it, and the smoky light half-illuminated the dim space as he paced back and forth.

As Much lifted a hollow log, however, he let out a strangled yelp and leapt backwards, knocking Adale and Blande to the ground as he bowled into them. "Quiet, boy!" Robin hissed, helping him back to his feet. "You'll get us all killed, is that what you want?"

Much shook his head, a bit white. "It was that damn grimalkin, Robin! Scared the living daylights out of me." He pointed at the space that he had just been clearing. Under the hollow log, lying in the shadows, stretched a ginger tabby cat, its eyes glowing yellow in the torchlight.

"Scared of a puss," Robin sighed. "Have I taught you nothing?"

"I swear it was bigger than that when I first laid eyes on it!" Much protested in a hoarse whisper. "Big, and shaggy, and…wild-like."

Robin handed John his torch and went over to the log. "Learn from me, boy." He knelt and scooped the cat up from the damp leaves, cuddling it in his arms until it batted playfully at his bearded face with one pristinely white paw. "See? Quite harmless, my boy!"

Much grumbled, and Robin set the cat down. As soon as its four feet touched the floor, the sleek animal mewled a plaintive note and ran to Enna, curling around her ankles and purring noisily.

"What a darling thing," Enna said, reaching down to pick up the cat.

"You certainly have a habit of attracting fine-looking felines," Aramir commented mildly, rubbing the cat under its chin until it vibrated in Enna's arms.

"I certainly do," Enna laughed.

As soon as the sound of her laughter died away, she realized just what Aramir had said. She turned to look at him at the same time that _he_ realized it, too, and the jolts of mutual comprehension that sizzled in their glances made the skin on Enna's arms prickle.

"Perhaps it is the other way around, my friend," she said to him, lifting the cat to arm's length as she looked into its golden eyes. "Perhaps a certain feline has a habit of attracting _me_."

The cat did not squirm in her grasp or mewl; instead, it fixed its deep eyes on hers and held perfectly still, not blinking or even twitching its tail.

Aramir put his hand on Enna's back, the sudden warmth startling Enna out of her daze, and said, "I think we ought to postpone the camping. What do you think, Enna?"

Enna bent and put the cat on the ground. "Lead, Aslan, and we shall follow," she whispered to it before she straightened.

The cat stared at them all for another few moments with its unblinking golden eyes, then began to trot off in the direction of the city. Without a second thought, Enna and Aramir began to march after it.

"Where are you _going_?" Robin hissed. "You'll be killed!"

"You'll just have to trust us on this one," Aramir said with a shrug, and ploughed ahead through the brambles, his shoulders straight with determination.

Robin heaved an exaggerated sigh, but motioned for his men to take their horses' reins and follow.

As she trotted to keep up with Aramir's lengthy strides, Enna's heart glowed at his staunchness—many was the time they had differed in opinion, but at last she felt as though they understood each other. "I'm glad you're here," she said, half to him and half to Aslan.

The tabby cat glanced once over its shoulder and waved its tail in recognition of her thanks, and Aramir held out his hand, palm up, his smile evident even in the half-light of the moon. Enna clasped it with hers, the calluses of his palms pressing reassuringly against her flesh, and they shook firmly in a gesture of mutual affection and companionship. All seemed well, now that Aslan had taken charge again!

They followed the cat back up the slope. It trotted ahead of them, indifferent to the nearby blazing torches of the Terebinthian and Galmanian camp; Enna had the urge to go forth stealthily, but Aramir caught her elbow and forced her to walk as casually as possible. No one seemed to notice them, though they passed within meters of a posted guard. (He was too preoccupied with a spot on his sword to pay attention to them.)

Eventually, after winding along the outskirts of the camp, they came to the banks of the rushing Archen River, its waters dark and treacherous-looking without the yellow light of the now-distant campfires. The tabby cat ahead of them gave one twitch of its tail, then padded right into the water, its fur darkening and clinging unattractively to its frame as it began to swim.

"Well, I never!" Robin was heard to exclaim in a hoarse whisper. "A puss, willingly entering water!"

Aramir's grin glinted dully in the half-light. "After you, Enna."

Enna hesitated—the water was supposedly deep and unswimmable—but if Aslan was leading them to it, how could it go ill? So, she pulled up the tops of her travel-worn boots and splashed down the bank.

Suddenly, an ice-cold hand grabbed her arm. It was Tamlyn, wild-eyed and pale, saying in a strained voice, "Majesty! You can't—it's suicide! Everyone knows that to enter the Archen River is to go to one's grave!"

The cat was nearing the middle of the river. "It's all right, Tam," Enna said, prizing the girl's fingers from her arm one by one. "I can swim well, if it comes to that."

"Swimming will not save you!" Tamlyn whimpered.

"There's nothing to fear," Enna replied. Tamlyn's fright was beginning to get under her skin and raise the hairs on the back of her neck. But before her nerves got the best of her, she wrenched free of Tamlyn and plunged into the water, feeling the cold current pushing against her ankles as she went deeper and deeper. Aslan was at the middle of the river, now, swimming calmly, and Enna fixed her gaze on him as she went unsteadily across the gravelly riverbed, water rushing up to her knees, expecting every minute to step off the unseen edge of an underwater precipice.

Behind her, Tamlyn began to hyperventilate. Aramir at first tried to shush her and lead her through the water, but when it became clear the tiny girl would not quiet down or cooperate, he bent over and pulled her over one shoulder, striding out into the rushing river with determined steps and giving Enna an exasperated shake of the head. This shocked Tamlyn into silence, and she hung down Aramir's back in cowed disbelief.

As it turned out, there was no unseen precipice, and Enna and Aramir (with Tamlyn on his shoulder) made it safely to the opposite bank, where the tabby cat was sitting patiently on the dry grass, its fur already beginning to dry. Once the others saw that the three had survived the journey, they took their horses by the reins and ventured nervously into the water. One by one, they all stepped onto dry land.

"That is one remarkable cat," John Small said hoarsely.

Aslan merely licked one white paw and gave them all a rather eloquently arch look.

"Well, now what are we to do?" Robin asked after doffing his hat briefly. "We can hardly skip right up to the front gate, I suppose, what with those archers…"

As if in answer, the cat shook itself dry and got back to its feet, trotting silently off towards the city. Robin looked at Enna and Aramir, who both shrugged, and set off to follow.

Aslan led them along the riverbank, where it was both grassy and thus easy on their feet, but also thinly forested and shielded from the opposite shore by reeds and low-hanging branches. The only sign of the army was the dim flickering of their campfires on the surface of the river; now much brighter were the torches lining the city walls. As they neared the upward slope that led to the base of the outer fortifications, instead of beginning an ascent, Aslan veered right and took them deep into the surrounding forest, away from the river and towards the rocky hills. In here, it was so dark the travelers could see nothing, and so were forced to link hands and loop reins around arms so as not lose the horses or themselves. At times, Enna, at the vanguard of the strange band, lost sight of Aslan's glowing eyes and dim white paws, but then he would wrap around her ankles and guide her in the right direction again.

At last, he stopped. Mewling once, he rubbed against a mound of earth that was piled up higher than Aramir's head against the base of a rocky hill, and then he was gone in the shadows.

"I think he brought us to the place he wished," Aramir whispered as Enna gasped involuntarily.

"Aye, but where is that?" she replied, grasping for his hand.

"I know," came Tamlyn's voice. She stepped forward into a pale shaft of moonlight, and frowned as she looked at the mound. "We're at the base of the mountain that guards Anvard from behind. This is where the kings of Archenland are always buried—look, there's another, over there." She pointed, and everyone squinted into the dark. Sure enough, another mound of earth rose up some distance from them.

"Why would he lead us here?" Enna asked.

Robin let out a noisy sigh and pushed past Tamlyn to stand akimbo before Enna and Aramir. "You seemed to think as though that cat were the answer to our problems. I believed you, thinking we could do no worse. But now I see it was a mere tomcat, and you two are nothing but fools!"

"Robin…" said Enna reproachfully.

He ignored her. "We've gone and gotten ourselves lost in this wretched wood, and everything is gone to waste! I loathe war—I loathe Anvard—and I _loathe_ you noblefolk!"

To prove his point, he turned to the ancient, mossy burial mound and threw his weight against it. Enna closed her eyes to block out the man's irreverent and childish actions, but as soon as her lids were shut, she heard a great crash that echoed in the trees, and when her eyes flew open again, Robin was gone, a great cloud of dust taking his place.

"Robin!" cried his yeomen in unison. Everyone rushed forward to where he had once stood.

"Where did he go?" John said anxiously. "I see nothing!"

They heard strangely echo-y coughing and scuffling from somewhere below the ground. "I'm all right, John," came Robin's faraway voice. "Just…a bit banged up, I think."

Simultaneously, all of the spectators leaned forward, straining their eyes against the blackness that was the funeral mound. Gradually, as the distant moon moved out from behind a cloud, they began to see just what had happened. The entire front face of the ancient mound had disintegrated at the sudden and sharp collision with Robin's elbow; it had crumbled away completely, leaving a stale-smelling, gaping dark hole, big enough for a man and horse to get through.

"Where are you?" called Enna, her voice echoing. "Can you describe it to us?"

There was some more shuffling. "I think I found a torch. Throw me down a flint, someone."

Aramir rummaged in his pocket and threw down the stones. They landed with a sharp crack somewhere below, and they heard Robin feel around for them before beginning to strike them together. The flash of sparks that came from the tools illuminated their surroundings too briefly to be of much help; a moment later, though, and golden light shone forth from a deep hole inside the mound. Now that there was light, the travelers could see that what should have been a pile of rocks covering the grave of a king was actually a cleverly built ruse. It looked sturdy and ancient, as well it should have, but it was hollowed partly out, guarding a square-cut hole in the moist dirt. It was from this hole the flickering light of Robin's torch came. He had obviously pushed down the frail outer wall with his shoulder (as evidenced by the excess of stones littering the ground inside), and thence fallen down the hole.

"There," he said. "A bit cobwebby, but I think it shall serve."

"Can you describe where you are, now?" Aramir called.

"Certainly. I am in a tunnel—looks to be cut straight from the bedrock. On one side, the tunnel extends beyond the reach of my torch. On the other, there is a flight of stairs leading down from that hole above my head—it would have been pleasant to have used those formerly."

Tamlyn let out a gasp.

"What is it?" John asked her worriedly.

She shook her head, clinging to Enna's hand. "I hadn't believed it—but all the books say that, in the times of old, King Col had secret tunnels from the city built into the mountains when he ordered Anvard to be constructed, in case hard times should fall upon its inhabitants. We've been taught that all the tunnels were destroyed in earthquakes or simple disrepair. But now…"

Enna looked at Aramir, and he winked at her. "He certainly knows what he's doing, I suppose," he murmured.

"Should we risk it?" she replied softly. "What if the tunnel has collapsed further in? Or what if it collapses while we're there?"

"Aslan would not make such a mistake," he answered simply.

She sighed. "Very well. All, who wants to go first?"

"I will," came Robin's voice.

"All right, who wants to go _next_, then?"

"I'll go," said Aramir, and the next moment was lowering his lanky frame through the hole and trotting down the stone steps into the tunnel. With this done, the yeomen were all too willing to follow, and they clambered down one by one, leading their skittish horses with them. Enna went last, pushing as much of the debris and stones back towards the gaping hole in the false tomb wall as she could.

The tunnel itself, once she was entirely down inside it, revealed itself to be low and poorly lit. It looked as though it had been hand-chiseled from the living stone, and the horses were forced to keep their noble heads down so as not to scrap their ears against the rough ceiling. Each movement echoed noisily into oblivion, sending unseen animals scurrying for cover.

"Well, who wants to lead?" Robin asked cheerily.

Everyone eyed the murky darkness beyond the flickering light of Robin's torch.

"I'll go," Aramir volunteered once more. He drew Arondight from its sheath and began to walk slowly forward; everyone else hesitated momentarily before following him, putting hands on hilts and glancing about nervously for any unwanted visitors.

"What shall we do if the tunnel dead-ends?" Much said at last, his voice oddly loud in the echo-y tunnel.

"Turn around, I suppose," Enna replied, twanging her bowstring anxiously. "But I doubt it'll come to that."

"What makes you so sure?"

She paused. "I just…am."

Gradually, the ground tilted upwards, and the walk became more of a climb. "We must be getting…somewhere," Aramir panted, clutching a stitch in his side.

"You'd better…hope so," Robin retorted breathlessly.

Just then, Aramir stopped abruptly—so abruptly, in fact, that it took four or five collisions to bring everyone else to a stop. "What is the meaning of this?" John demanded as the horses, already uncomfortable, whinnied loudly.

"Steps," said Aramir.

"What?"

He turned. "There are steps here! _Steps!_"

"Go up them, man," Enna cried. "But be careful!"

Robin gave him his torch, and Aramir climbed the steps. Using the butt of his sword, he pounded on several places before there came a distinct, rusty rattling. Enna ran up and took the torch from him; Aramir braced his shoulder against the spot, testing it, then reared back and slammed his full weight into it.

The moldering old door splintered under the force, and he tumbled out of the dank tunnel into a bright, richly furnished sitting chamber. Tamlyn let out a shriek, but before even Enna had a chance to fling her hand over the girl's mouth, Aramir had a sword point pressed to his chest by an armed guard and four of his comrades were pointing spears at the others.

"We come in peace!" Enna bellowed frantically, waving the torch in the air. "We're ambassadors of King Lune!"

"What is this, now?" came a familiar voice.

The guards faltered in their offence as King Lune himself, wearing a brown paisley robe, flannel nightcap, and furry slippers, waddled into the room; Aramir took the chance to wriggle out from under the sword and bow to Lune. "It is I, Your Majesty," he said quickly, "Sir Aramir Ealion, of Narnia. You sent—"

"Aye, aye, I know you well," Lune said broadly. "I am simply surprised at the manner in which you decided to return from Calormen. And oh, look, Her Majesty has joined you in my receiving room closet, as has lovely Lady Tamlyn. Welcome back, my friends. Although, I must admit, I do not recognize your companions."

The guards had now gotten the fact that Lune knew these strange people, and the travelers still on the steps of the tunnel stepped cautiously out into the room, blinking in the brightness. "I am Gedwin Iola, Your Majesty," said Robin solemnly, sweeping his rooster-feathered cap from his head and bowing deeply. "I run a mill in southern Archenland. These are my men—Yon, Vilar and his brother Vil, Roles, Cayten, Ertar, Vander, Ot, Momer, Shara, Mayt, Pulit, Such, Frul, Thar, Hael, Punar, Reshin, Proteras, and Oplicat. Your Majesty."

The yeomen (certainly not by the names Robin had mentioned) bowed low.

Lune inclined his head, his round face turning rather red beneath his beard. "Greetings, men. I trust in your integrity and strength of arm, or my ambassadors would not have brought you along."

"Indeed, sire," said Enna quickly, "they heard of our plight and volunteered to serve in Your Majesty's army until the foreign threat is no more."

"Noble, certainly," said Lune. "Therefore, I shall overlook the fact that they are bringing horses into my chambers!"

Now Enna saw the cause for the fat king's scarlet cheeks—he was attempting to prevent laughter from bursting forth! The late hour, contagiousness of Lune's boisterous good humor, and absurdity of twenty-nine travel-stained horses crowding the king's fine chambers all combined to make her erupt in a little giggle, which she stifled in mortification.

Rather than frown at her or clear his throat awkwardly, Lune burst out in uproarious laughter, guffawing until his belly shook and his eyes teared. "Dear me, dear me," he panted, wiping his cheeks with a fat hand. "Young folk these days! Really, the shenanigans! Well, I suppose you ought to be put in chambers and your horses in stables. I am glad to see you all arrived back healthy and hale."

_Except my brother_, Enna remembered painfully. "Don't you wish to hear our report?" she asked.

Lune waved a hand. "If it were any other scenario, I would agree. But, Your Majesty, Anvard is under siege, and there is nothing any of us can do until it is broken. So you see? A good night's rest for all of us will greatly improve our planning abilities for the morrow."

Enna frowned, but she could do nothing but agree. Lune motioned for the guards to escort them away, and so they left the king's presence, leaving all that must be said for another time.


	39. Chapter Thirty Nine

_A/N: Ah! I live! (I shan't even go into the particulars about my life this time.) A few notes, though—this chapter was initially intended to be much, much longer, but things are always longer typed up than they are handwritten! And I figured you'd rather have an average-length chapter now than a super-long one next week. _

_But! As some of you might have gathered, we are approaching the end of "Taming the Tides"! It's still quite a few chapters off, but the end is indeed in sight. I'm iffy about giving you a date yet, since I have no idea how my life will be in the next few months, but hopefully…before Christmas? :O _

_And you all know what the end of a Sushi fic means…(well, maybe you don't, but that's okay) a poll! That's right! Dictate what I should write next! The link to the Wufoo poll is at the very top of our profile page. Go vote! And enjoy this chapter! :)_

--

It felt strange to be walking on cool cobblestones again after so many weeks of traveling. Enna and Aramir welcomed the change, and as they were led to their old rooms, Enna ran her hands along the moonlit walls, relishing in the sensations of rough, strong rock protecting her—finally—from the elements.

The manservant went through their chambers, unbolting the windows, kindling the fires, and lighting the candles. "Breakfast will be served at the usual time, Your Majesty," he told Enna before bowing himself out of her room. As soon as the door was closed behind him, Enna rushed to her trunk and pulled out a clean nightgown, eager to sleep unrestrained for the first time in months.

Just as she was untying her stays, however, there came a soft knock at the door. Tentatively, she went over to it and unlatched the handle, peering cautiously around to see who was calling on her so late at night.

_"Enna!"_

The visitor launched herself at Enna with this noisy greeting, flinging her arms around her neck and squeezing quite exuberantly. "Oh, we have been so worried! You should have sent a message or something to let us know you were still alive!"

"It's rather late to be out of bed, Lucy," Enna told the young woman without any real censure.

"Oh, I'm much too excited to sleep _now_," said Lucy, bounding into the room to sit on Enna's bed. "There's so much to tell!"

Enna went to shut the door, but an arm blocked it, and someone said, "Lucy, what's all this racket?"

It was Edmund, and when she met his eyes, Enna remembered painfully the discomfort and awkwardness that had previously existed between them. "We've returned from Calormen," she said carefully.

"So I see. Welcome back—your departure was sudden." He offered his hand, and Enna shook it gingerly. "How went it?"

"Very badly, I'm afraid," Enna sighed.

"That is a shame. I insist on hearing it explained further tomorrow—you must be exhausted."

"Aye."

He nodded slowly. "You will find, I think, some people's feelings towards you quite changed."

"Oh, aye," chimed in Lucy. "The Archenlanders now consider us quite their saviors!"

"That's good," said Enna, who was rather more preoccupied with the meaningful look Edmund was giving her. "I was afraid they would continue to regard me as previous, which I could not have borne. I am very grateful, but tell me—what brought about this change?"

"A realization of their youthful foolishness," Edmund told her quietly. "And they wish to apologize sincerely, and to regard you as a friend once more."

"Well, you should tell them I happily accept their apologies," Enna replied, "and that I should be glad to call them friend again."

Edmund inclined his head slightly. "Very good. Well, Lu, you should think about going back to bed, or you shall be quite the unpleasant queen tomorrow."

"Goodnight, brother," Lucy said, rolling her eyes.

"Goodnight, sisters," Edmund replied, and went back to his chamber, closing the door softly behind him.

Lucy got up. "Your hair looks like a kestrel's nest, Enna," she said with a giggle. "What Susan would say! Sit down and I'll fetch a comb."

It was tempting to be offended at this, but Enna lowered herself onto the little stool in front of the streaky mirror, resigned to the fact that her hair was knotted and tangled, and that she did indeed look as though a kestrel had nested on her head. "Be gentle," she said with a sigh.

Lucy came up behind her with a tortoise-shell comb and began to loosen the ties of the snarled plait. "So—tell me what adventures you encountered, and then I shall share what little happened here."

Enna sighed again. "Well, the Galmanian ambassadors saw me when they were here, and so Aramir, Endrit, and I (Tamlyn insisted on accompanying us) left immediately for Calormen. Our journey south was as uneventful as such a journey can be, until we reached Aberwood Forest."

"Oh, aye," Lucy said grimly. "Our friends here have told us all about the rogue that lives there. He steals from the rich and robs them quite blind! What a blackguard."

Enna cleared her throat. "Aye, well, he and his men accosted us as we went through the forest—"

"As is to be expected.

"—And we were kept their overnight before Robin let us continue in the morning. When we crossed the desert some time later, we were caught in a sandstorm—"

"How awful!"

"—And came upon the Terebinthian army in the midst of it. Thankfully, they were too preoccupied with themselves to notice us as we fled for Tashbaan."

"What happened while you were there?" Lucy asked, beginning to attack Enna's tangled curls with the comb.

Enna grimaced and held a hand to her scalp as Lucy tugged and pulled. "The palace guards would not permit us to see the Tisroc as Archenlanders and Narnians. We decided, therefore, to disguise ourselves as—_ouch_!—as Calormene nobles, and thus gained access to the Tisroc. Once we were before him, however, as soon as we revealed ourselves, he had us arrested."

Lucy gasped. "Arrested!"

"Aye—and Aramir was quite clever and faked his own death, so he was able to free us from prison after dark."

"How perfectly exciting!" Lucy picked a burr from Enna's hair. "What I would have given to be there."

In the bestreaked mirror, Enna's already tired face grew a little plainer. "Oh, I forgot to mention—Lord Endrit was slain by the city guards as we fled."

Lucy's hands stilled, and she went a little white, their eyes meeting in the mirror. "Your brother?" she asked softly.

Enna nodded.

"How tragic," Lucy whispered, putting a hand to her cheek. "Poor Lady Roscommon and Lord Bodmor!"

"I must tell them tomorrow," Enna said.

Lucy returned to her task, looking grim. "They withdrew for Roscommon Castle the day after you departed. They left word for Lord Endrit to meet them there. How ironic," she added with a brief chuckle. "Even if he had…survived…he still would not have been able to fulfill their wishes. Anvard is under siege."

"We guessed as much. And yet you seem so…unconcerned."

Lucy smiled. "There was a great battle two weeks ago. Well—perhaps I shouldn't exaggerate, it was a _small_ battle. We beat them quite soundly, but instead of retreating, they decided to settle in for a siege. We are not worried, for the army shall soon grow restless, if our previous experience with them is any indicator, and we are very well stocked. But, now—how did you and Aramir managed to get beyond the city walls?

Enna couldn't help but laugh a little, and she told Lucy the mystery of the secret passage, including 'Gedwin the miller' and his men, and how blithely Lune accepted their explanation.

"That _is_ odd," Lucy said, "especially considering you brought horses into the royal palace."

"We didn't know it was the royal palace," Enna retorted dryly.

Lucy giggled. "Well, it's still rather entertaining!"

Enna's laugh was interrupted with a yawn.

"Ohh, look," said Lucy, pointing at her. "You must be exhausted. I've kept you up much too long. Well, your hair is neat and combed now—'thank you, Lucy'—so you should sleep much better. We should continue this conversation upon the morrow."

Enna smiled. "We should."

"Do you promise to tell me everything else, then?"

"I promise. Everything."

"Then I'll let you be. Goodnight, Enna!"

"And goodnight to you, Lucy."


	40. Chapter Forty

_A/N: Woo! An update! :D Okay, I warned you this chapter would be long. And did I lie? No!_

_Remember to take our Wufoo poll if you haven't already! _

_And this chapter is lovingly dedicated to the WCHS senior class—happy Homecoming and hurrah for the Spirit Cup! :DDDD_

…_/inside jokes_

--

The next day found the travelers refreshed and well rested. They all bathed and dressed in comfortable Archenlandian clothes once again; even the outlaws of Aberwood gave in to pressure and, although refusing fine doublets and embroidered shirts, allowed their menservants to dress them in tunics and trousers of simple but fine cloth.

Before breakfast, Enna and Aramir had a private audience with Lune, in which they told all that had happened to them (to an extent), including the death of Endrit and burning of Archenlandian towns. In turn, Lune told them the story of the secret tunnel (there had once been many, in case of attack, but all save the one had since collapsed) and mentioned that while he hadn't expected hem to use it, he was aware of the tunnel's existence and was therefore unsurprised at their unorthodox arrival. It was also decided that the war was going well, all things considered, and if the Calormenes treated the Galmanians the same way they had treated the Archenlanders, it really could not affect them badly.

Perhaps the highlight of the morning, however, was when brunch was interrupted by a breathless messenger from the captain of the city guard. "The siegers had absconded," he had informed the stunned hall, "and left naught but smoldering campfires—scouting parties had determined that the rebel army was heading northeasterly, towards the castles on the coast. A decent infantry and cavalry could be raised within the day, with pursuit following the next morning."

Thus, Anvard and the surrounding countryside were seized with frenzied busyness. Young and able-bodied men flooded into the capital from nearby farms and towns to be fitted with armor and readied for battle; the streets rang with the sounds of busy forges and commanders attempting to instill a bit of knowledge in the green and oftentimes forgetful militia. Enna was supplied with fresh arrows; Edmund and Aramir had their swords sharpened to deadly thinness; even Lucy was given a light rapier and dangerous-looking curved dagger. The plan, it had been decided, was to pursue the fleeing army and engage them in a decisive battle before they could reach the sea or ravage coastal towns or estates. Every able-bodied man who was over sixteen and could lift a sword was expected to assist in this endeavor. Only the city guard would be left behind to defend the city and its remaining occupants.

Considering all this military hustle and bustle, it was easy to see how a party of riders could make its way to the palace without being noticed. Enna, Lucy, Edmund, Aramir, and Lune were walking together across the spacious cobblestone courtyard, intent on finding a map of northern Archenland, when the hollow clopping of hooves heralded the approach of a large company of horsemen up the stone steps to the yard. A moment later, there was a brief trumpet blast, and as the riders crested the staircase, someone with a resonant voice called out, "All hail Peter, high king of Narnia!"

The words seemed to wrench Enna deep inside, and she, along with everyone else within earshot, whirled around. Indeed, it was Peter on his chestnut horse, surrounded by centaurs, fauns, a few orange and red dryads, and even a few young hounds. All of the Narnians looked rather travel-worn, with dusty coats and thin faces. Peter, however, sat erect in the saddle, his blue eyes snapping with intensity and his golden beard now thick and mature, was trimmed neatly. Despite the dirt of the road and worn clothes, he radiated kingly confidence and youthful vigor.

_"Peter!"_ Lucy cried, running forward.

He flung himself from the saddle, red cloak flying, and caught his youngest sister in a laughing hug. "Lu! How you've grown! And Ed—how I missed you both!"

Edmund grinned, and the two men clapped each other's shoulders in a brisk but affectionate hug. "It's about time you decided to show your face, brother."

"We meant to arrive much earlier, but those blasted islanders kept up from Anvard's gates."

"Good news, then?"

"Rather. The Galmanians are gone from Narnia, and they, I assume, have taken up again with the rest of their countrymen. We shall be able to crush them in one blow."

"Excellent."

At that moment, Peter straightened as though he'd forgotten something. "Lune," he said broadly. "My old friend!"

Lune laughed in a jolly manner, his fat belly quivering with mirth. "Don't try to flatter me, boy, I won't fall for it."

Peter joined him in laughter. "Very well, Lune. I must thank you, at least, for being so kind to my people and to Narnia. You must think of some way for us to repay you."

"I shall think of something, mark my words," Lune answered, shaking Peter's hand warmly. "Doubtless it shall concern Prince Corin…punishment enough, I should think!"

Enna giggled despite herself, and Peter turned to her, quite suddenly. Her amusement faded away and was replaced by a deep discomfort at that all-too-familiar piercing gaze, and she dropped her eyes and curtsied. "Welcome back, my lord," she said, now quite subdued.

"Thank you, my lady," was his equally awkward reply.

Everyone watched them expectantly. Enna would have been quite willing just to move on with the day's business, but she knew—as she was the wife of the high king, the Archenlanders expected her to act it. Apparently, Peter had the same thought at the same time, for he bent down and placed a brief, unaffectionate, scratchy kiss on her cheek.

"I am pleased to see you well," she said delicately.

"As am I."

"There is much to be discussed."

"Indeed. A private audience with milady would be apt."

Enna bit her lip and felt for Aramir's bracing touch at her elbow. But there came no encouraging grip; instead, as she looked askance at him, he refused to return the glance, choosing rather to gaze straight ahead. "Aye, milord," she said at last, quietly, "there is much indeed."

Lune clapped his hands together. "Come now, my boy," he said broadly. "There is work to be done! You can spend time with your lady love after we tell all that has transpired."

"So much has happened!" Lucy exclaimed, and leapt to Peter's side to grasp his hand. "So much to tell! Did you know…"

As she led him off to Lune's office, her bubbly voice faded out, and she, Edmund, and Lune went away with him.

What followed was a rather awkward silence between Enna, Aramir, and the rest of the Narnians. Gratefully, a footman approached the creatures and graciously offered to show them to their respective chambers, where they might rest and refresh themselves. Chattering animatedly with one another, they went off, leaving Enna and Aramir.

"Peter's back," Aramir said at last, squinting at the low, grey sky.

"Indeed," said Enna quietly.

"I expect you're pleased."

"He is safe," Enna replied neutrally. "I am pleased about that."

Aramir absently tapped his foot on the ground for a few moments, then cleared his throat and said, "Well, I suppose I ought to…"

And he made a vague motion before quickly quitting the courtyard, taking with him Enna's only hope for a sympathetic ear.

"I suppose it'll do no good to stand here, then," she told a mossy statue, and, gathering her cloak about her, went slowly up a flight of worn stone steps. The repetitive motion cleared her head a little, and went she found herself atop the palace wall, she was able to appreciate the beauty of the vast sprawl of Anvard and the rolling pastures spreading themselves out before her. The trees on the bluffs encircling the city on three sides had turned vibrant reds and oranges, and the chill breezes that blew in from the east smelled of frost and distant snow. It was already October—a year since she had been dragged before the four thrones. How strange that now, she was yearning for separation from the very man that had saved her from Minodaurus.

This thought brought her enjoyment of the scenery to an abrupt end. The last time she'd heard from Peter, he'd stated that he'd come to a conclusion about their marriage—"_I have been thinking much on the subject of our marriage, and this time I __have__ remembered Aslan's command! I hope to take some time when you return from Calormen to discuss it with you."_ That could only mean an annulment. After all, the lion had said to retain the legal bond for only the time being.

She sighed and leaned against the stone wall, pulling her cloak tightly about her shoulders.

"Enna?"

She turned. Peter, his red cloak loose, was ascending the steps toward her. "I'm surprised Lucy let you free already," she said.

"There was much to talk about, but fortunately she has the gift of amazingly quick speech."

"Then you know all that happened?"

"Aye. You have been through a good deal."

"Indeed. And yourself?"

Peter came to lean against the wall beside her. "A fair amount, I suppose, though not nearly as much—we pursued the Galmanians through Narnia, engaged them twice or thrice, but hardly much else."

"Hm."

There was silence for a few moments. At last, Peter heaved a sigh and said, "There are things we must discuss, Enna."

"I know."

He paused again. "Come, walk with me. I think better when my legs are moving."

Reluctantly, Enna left the safety of the wall and walked abreast of Peter, holding her hands stiffly at her sides. The weight of the impending conversation was heavy in the air between them, yet neither wanted to broach the subject.

"Well," he said at last, slowly.

Enna sighed. As uncomfortable as this discussion would inevitably be, she didn't wish it to drag out longer than it must. "If I may be frank with you, Peter—"

"Please, do."

"I was completely faithful to my marriage vows. Despite our differences."

He looked at her, his handsome face rather surprised. "And I was faithful, as well."

"Well, now that we have that basis of understanding," Enna replied with a slightly nervous laugh.

Peter stirred and drew from his pocket a folded, slightly crumpled piece of paper, which he handed silently to her.

Enna took it and looked at it. Immediately, she recognized her own hasty signature next to Peter's oddly shaky one; below their names were also the inscriptions of Edmund and Lucy with the clarifier "Witness" underneath both. "It hardly looks well cared for," she said with a slight laugh, waving the marriage warrant in the air.

"I kept it with me all these months," Peter replied. "You would not imagine the guilt associated with it."

"I might," Enna answered quietly.

Peter sighed. "We were wrong to do it, you know." Before she could respond with a veiled 'I-told-you-so,' he held up a hand and said, "Aye. You were right from the beginning. You needn't remind me."

A soldier released from duty came from one of the distant guard towers, and he bowed to the king and queen as he passed, not noticing the sudden awkward silence that had fallen upon his appearance. As soon as he was gone, Enna closed her eyes briefly. "You're making it sound as though everything was your fault. I agreed to it, didn't I?"

"After I pressed you in a most ungentlemanly manner," Peter replied.

"You were just…ardent."

"I was a liar." Peter ran his hands through his fair hair, sighing with frustration. "I wish I didn't have to tell you this, Enna. But I think I've come to the realization that…that I really never loved you in the first place."

Enna tilted her head and let the words sink in. At last, her suspicions were realized—Aslan had told her so, but she had seen no proof to verify his words until now. "That's all right, Peter. I knew you didn't. Perhaps that was one of the reasons I was so adamantly against marrying you."

He had been watching her face carefully, and evidently he saw there something he'd been hoping for, for his tense forehead eased and a friendly light returned to his blue eyes. "All these months apart from you, in the service of Aslan, has helped me discern where my love truly lies. It is with Narnia—and Narnia will always come before any woman, in my heart. It will never be fair for me to wed: either I give myself to a woman, and Narnia suffers; or I give myself to Narnia, and the lady suffers. I cannot divide my soul. I must choose my home."

"'Tis a noble attribute," Enna replied quietly, awed at his selflessness.

"It is a wonder to see how things change once one's head is clear," Peter said, half to himself.

Enna looked at him. "You know what we must do then…if we wish to serve Aslan."

"I wish to serve him with everything. Do you?"

"Wholeheartedly so," Enna whispered.

There was a brief silence. After a moment, however, she held up the marriage certificate, and Peter grasped the other end. Without another minute's hesitation, they swiftly and decidedly brought their hands away, tearing the parchment straight down the middle.

The action was not as earth shattering as Enna had expected. Rather, they both stood there in silence, holding ragged bits of paper rather stupidly. Nothing felt any different. So many months had passed outside of Peter's company, Enna had forgotten what it felt like to be married—so now, when it was really over, she felt nothing out of the ordinary, besides a distinct relief.

"Well?" Enna said at last.

"Well."

"How do you feel?"

He sighed. "Well, it is disappointing when things like this end, I will not lie. But I do feel better."

"As do I."

Peter nodded, then cleared his throat, then scuffed his boot along the stone floor. "I will win this war. I promise you that."

"I believe you."

He watched her for a bit, then pulled from his finger a ring, which he handed to her. "Here. Keep this until the war is over—it will give you the same authority you enjoyed as queen. With it, no one can question you."

"I ought'nt—"

"Please, Enna. It's for your own safety."

Reluctantly, Enna accepted the ring and slipped it into her pocket. "Thank you, Peter."

He nodded. "And once the war is over, you may return to Cair with us and act your rank as knight. Narnia is in sad want of Daughters of Eve. Lucy would love to have you—she told me of your brother. I am so very sorry."

Enna accepted his condolences with a slight smile that masked the guilt that was rising up inside her. "You are too kind to me. I hardly deserve it."

"What, should I leave you here in Archenland with no international rank or home to your name? Preposterous. You think ill of me."

"Hardly."

A smile grew under his fair beard, and he offered her a genial hand. "I should be glad to count you among my friends again, Enna. You will be a blessing to the court at Cair."

He turned to leave, but the shame rose up inside Enna like a physical illness, and before she could stop it, she blurted out, "Wait, Peter. I was not—was not as faithful as you think."

She was perhaps more stunned at the words than Peter was. Nevertheless, he turned around, eyebrows raised in an expression of polite astonishment. "How, now, Enna? Which Archenlandian courtier caught your eye in my absence?"

"It is nothing like that," she whispered. "He thinks nothing of me, and never has."

"But you love him?"

The words hung in the air like so many thunderclouds. Enna knew the answer instinctively, and yet, she hesitated to answer quietly, "Aye."

"But he does not love you back."

"No."

"And why do you tell me, then?"

"Because…" Enna drew her shoulders back. "A very good friend told me once that emotional unfaithfulness is graver than any other marital sin."

Peter nodded slowly. "Wise friend."

"I am so very sorry."

"Oh, do not apologize. I knew from the beginning you did not love me, and that eventually you might find one you _did_ love. I am not surprised in the least. Nor am I angry," he added lightly as she opened her mouth.

"I'm sorry," she insisted on repeating one last time.

"You are wonderfully honest, Enna. It is one of your best features, I think. Even a small thing like this weighs heavily on your conscience."

"It is hardly the blessing you make it seem," she replied, running a hand over her face.

He tilted his head as he looked at her. "Why? Are you enamored with a rogue? An outlaw? A Galmanian, goodness forbid?"

Despite herself, she had to laugh at this. "No. Hardly that!"

"Then who?"

She took a deep breath. "It's…Peter, it's Aramir."

_There, it's out_.

Even as she thought this, Enna couldn't quite believe she'd actually given voice to the vague emotion that had been flitting about her mind for the past few weeks. More to make sure she'd truly spoken them, she said once more, "Aramir."

Peter nodded slowly. "Aramir. I might have known."

"How so?" Enna asked, her voice coming out in a squeak.

He frowned in thought. "Rather difficult to explain, I think. But I always had a strange feeling—from the moment I saw the way you tended to him in the dungeons (by the lion! It seems eons ago, doesn't it!)—that he held a higher place in your heart than I could ever boast."

"I didn't love him, then," she said. "I didn't even know him."

"Nevertheless," said Peter, holding his hands up in a gesture of innocence. "The feeling always troubled me. Now I find it quite enjoyable—I think I should like nothing better than to see two of my dearest friends married to each other—and it seems to explain things a great deal better."

"You won't tell him, will you?" Enna asked, her heart leaping into her throat.

"I see no need to," Peter replied. "Your secret is safe."

Enna twisted her fingers up in her cloak, not daring to meet the high king's eyes. "Thank you."

"Friends, Enna," Peter repeated firmly with a raised eyebrow. "Remember?"

"I remember."

He nodded. "Very good. Well. There is a war to run, my lady! I must be off for the time being."

"Good luck."

"Nay—good luck to _you_." The words were accompanied by a roguish wink, and he bowed low to her. "You'll need it more than I!"

This good-natured jibe cleared the air in an instant, and Enna laughed. So many plaguing issues cleared up in a manner of minutes! What could that bode for the war itself?


	41. Chapter Forty One

_A/N: You guys may remember that last year "Sea Rat" was nominated for several Narnia Fanfiction Revolution awards. Well, we've been nominated again! This year, "Taming the Tides" is up for __**Best Story: Drama**__, __**Best Story: Action/Adventure**__, and __**Best OC: Enna**__ so far. Official voting will begin in a few weeks, so keep an eye out for news about that._

_In other news, I met a girl named Brenna today. Her name excited me more than it should have. XD_

--

The morning sun was just cresting the brilliantly colored hills when the Archenlandian army began to mobilize towards the eastern coast. It was a large army, to be sure, but its soldiers, a strange combination of Narnian and Archenlander, beast and men, trained and green, were sleepy ones. Thus, the only sounds heard besides the whoosh of wind through the clustered trees were the rumble of wagons and the tramping of many various kinds of feet. If voices were heard, they were brief and quiet, as though out of respect for any mighty warrior that might be dozing as he marched.

It felt unsettlingly familiar to Enna, being outfitted in a short gown and placed atop a well-suited horse again. Her bow and arrow, slung over one shoulder, thumped lightly against her back with each step her mount took, Endrit's sword was tucked between her knees and the saddle, and a light blade that Lune had insisted she wear (despite the fact that she had absolutely no idea how to use it) rested along her leg. Altogether, it was nearly exactly as it had been in Narnia. Peter, Edmund, Lucy, Tamlyn (who was now accompanying her father, Lord Markis), and Aramir rode quietly nearby, armor clinking with each movement.

The army moved all day and late into the night, and woke early in the morning to continue. As the sun drifted overhead later and later into the day, Enna began to swear she smelled something familiar on the air. It was a sort of distant tang, a sweet, homely smell that touched Enna somewhere deep inside. She mentioned it once to Lucy, but the young girl just shrugged and said she didn't smell a thing beyond damp leaves and sweaty men.

When she asked Aramir, however, and saw his face harden into an expression of polite but detached interest, he said lightly, "We are nearing the coast. That is the Eastern Sea you smell."

She frowned at his reaction, but nodded thoughtfully and turned back to her riding.

Eventually, as the afternoon was drawing late, Glauco the griffin alighted on a nearby rocky outcropping and said in a firm voice, "My lords and ladies, I have news."

"Speak it," said Peter, drawing his horse in to a halt. Everyone followed suit.

"We are approaching a feoff, sire," said Glauco. "It is built nearly on the shore of the Great Sea."

Lune nodded decisively. "That will be Roscommon Castle and the surrounding village—your ancestral home, I believe, Queen Enna."

Enna's dismay at still being called 'queen' was tempered by her excitement to see Roscommon Castle—but that excitement in turn was moderated by the remembrance of the unpleasant task she would have to perform upon meeting up with her father and sister-in-law. Endrit's sword weighed heavily on her hip. "Aye, I believe it is, Your Majesty," she answered quietly.

"We shall encamp there," said Lune. "If your previous information has been accurate, Sir Glauco, the Galmanians shall engage us nearby."

Glauco bowed low and lifted into the air once again.

As they neared the coast, Enna began to catch glimpses of the home of her birth. Though the grassy hills had long since flattened out into sloping plains, Roscommon was built on a gentle knoll. Mossy and vine-covered stone ramparts built about a quarter of the way down the hillsides surrounded the brown stone manor that crested the hill; outside of the estate walls were over a score of cozy little houses, most with adjoining sheds or paddocks and gardens. Farmland stretched out away from the sea, and in the distance, mist-shrouded cliffs jutted out into the waters.

"It's beautiful," Enna breathed, soaking in the smell of the ocean and the crashing of the waves.

"Indeed, it is," said Peter, reigning in his horse. "But alas—there is work to be done. I don't wish to alarm either the manorites or the villagers, so I must ask you, Enna, to go to the castle, announce our presence and intentions and prepare them for our arrival."

"Must I go alone?" Enna said, suddenly aghast at the idea.

"I will go with her, sire," said Aramir.

Enna smiled at him, but he didn't meet her eyes. "Very well," said Peter. "I will also send Rack with you—come back to us when we are clear to approach, Rack."

A raven that had been waiting nearby spread its wings and alighted to Aramir's shoulder. "Expect our word shortly, sire," it croaked.

Peter inclined his head. "Make haste—night approaches."

Enna and Aramir nodded in agreement and touched their heels to the sides of their steeds; Rack squawked as the movement of Aramir's shoulder threw it off-balance, but soon they settled into a steady rhythm and proceeded silently towards the feoff.

At first, Enna did not mind the silence—she had much to think about—but before long, Aramir's muteness began to deafen her, and she dared to look at him out of the corner of her eye. "Aramir?" she said at long last.

He did not turn to look at her. "Aye?"

"Are you all right? You've been very quiet lately."

"I'm well."

"You didn't catch a throat-ache, did you?"

A hint of a smile flitted around his lips very briefly as he replied, "No. I'm not ill."

Enna frowned. "You're not usually so tight-lipped. I'm concerned about you."

"I assure you, Enna, I'm quite well."

"That's all I'll succeed in gathering from you, I suppose, then?"

"Clever lass."

They had come upon the small village in the course of this conversation, and as their travel-worn horses began the shallow ascent towards the estate castle, peasants busy binding wheat tares or shaking out rugs gave them little notice. Clearly, judging by this reception and the firmly packed dirt of the path, the Roscommon family entertained many guests.

Likewise, there was no guard at the gate to the citadel, so Aramir and Enna urged their horses over the threshold, and proceeded through a system of well-worn cobbled walkways and guard stations undeterred. It wasn't until the courtyard, a vast, open space with mossy stone benches and planters filled with red and gold-leafed trees, that they were approached by a bowing servant dressed in sapphire blue and snowy white livery.

"Welcome to Roscommon Castle," he said mildly, taking the reins of their horses with a practiced hand. "Might I tell my lord who calls?"

"Tell him Enna and Sir Aramir Ealion of Narnia," Enna replied.

"Yes, milady," said the servant, and led their horses away with a deep bow.

The raven on Aramir's shoulder fluttered its wings. "What shall I tell Their Majesties, Your Majesty?"

"Nothing, yet," Enna replied. "I have no doubt my father will be glad to welcome the army, but I feel it is only polite to ask permission first."

"Your Majesty is wise," Rack croaked.

Enna couldn't help but frown. When Rack spread his wings and alighted to the top of one of the walls look out at the waiting army, she said quietly, "How shall I introduce myself?"

"As the daughter of Lord Bodmor and queen of Narnia," Aramir answered monotonously. "What else?"

"Not queen any longer," she whispered.

This effected the first real display of emotion she'd seen in the young sailor in several days: he turned, blinking, to face her fully. "What do you mean, not queen?"

"I annulled my marriage with Peter," Enna answered, drawing her shoulders back as she looked at him.

"Why…"

A hot flush burst out on Enna's cheeks, and she turned to adjust her quiver unnecessarily. "Aslan forbade the union in the very beginning…it was his idea, you'll remember, to send the Narnian forces in different directions. Besides. You know perhaps even better than I that I do not love Peter—never did."

"I did get that impression," Aramir murmured. "Then…you just gave it all up? I mean, your title? Just like that?"

Enna shrugged, still avoiding his gaze lest he read her emotions in her face. "He's granted me my former authority, which I will relinquish as soon as my un…the Galmanians are defeated."

"What will you do then? If you're not married…where will you go?"

"Peter has kindly allowed me to be demoted to my knighthood. I will return to Cair Paravel with him and Edmund and Lucy."

"Do they know about this, then?"

Enna had to shake her head at this, still playing with her quiver. "No. You're the only person besides me and Peter that know."

"I'm honored that you would trust me with such news," Aramir said quietly.

"I would trust you with my life, you goose," Enna replied scoffingly, and was secretly relieved when the liveried servant returned.

"His lordship and her ladyship will receive you in the parlor, my lord and lady," said the servant with another low bow. Aramir held out his arm, and Rack fluttered down from its perch over their heads to sit on his shoulder.

That done, the servant led the three travelers up a set of worn stone steps (the same soft fawn color as the rest of the manor) and onto a cobbled pathway that stretched from one end of a long and perfectly manicured yet natural-looking lawn to the end of it, adorned in many places by late-blooming flowers and passing under the shade of several brilliant trees. On either side, stone walls, set every so often with wide, generous windows and tops wide enough for seven men to walk abreast on, and the walls themselves embraced by carefully-tended ivy. At the end of this path was another flight of stairs, this one much neater and boasting the same neat ivy as a sort of natural garland, winding up and through the banister supports.

At the top of the stairs was another, much smaller courtyard, and the windows looking out at this one were arched and detailed and low to the ground—altogether, there were far fewer floors, and Enna guessed that this end faced out towards the uninhabited waterfront. While she was still admiring the ancient beauty of this castle (Cair Paravel was much newer-looking, as Peter and his siblings had done extensive renovations on it, and it was much more of a fortress. Though Anvard had been more of a city than Cair, Roscommon was the most like a home), the servant led them through a peaked, ivy-draped doorway, opened a heavy door, and ushered them into the corridor. It was cool inside, but comfortably so, and it was exceedingly well lit from the many windows lining the walls.

"If you will follow me, my lord and lady," said the servant, heading off towards the right. The troupe passed a few doors, and quite a few more corridors, but eventually they came upon a doorway through which the servant went, bowed, and announced to someone inside, "The Lady Enna and Sir Ealion, master."

Enna went first, her steps hesitating, into the sunny room. Her first impression was not the majestic homeliness of its decorations, but the three figures seated comfortably amongst the books and tapestries. She first saw Lady Roscommon, with her sharp figures and severe appearance softened somewhat by a healthy color in her cheeks and an almost content look on her face; she then saw her father, his wrinkled brown eyes keen and a twinkling smile almost hidden by his beard; at last, her eyes fell upon little bald Erec, sprawled out on his belly on the carpet and chewing toothlessly on a wooden soldier.

_And I must destroy this all,_ she thought miserably, Endrit's sword heavy on her hip.

Only then did she notice that Bodmor was greeting Aramir fondly, shaking his hand and welcoming him. Enna wondered if she would be able to hide the news long enough, but a bracing smile from Aramir as Bodmor came to her with arms outstretched enabled her to smile and accept Bodmor's brief embrace.

"My daughter," he said affectionately. "It is so good of you to visit! Welcome to Roscommon—the home of your ancestors!"

"Hello, Father," she replied. "It has been too long. But, I do not come idly…"

"Indeed!"

Enna took a breath and plunged right in. "Father, the Galmanian and Terebinthian armies have fled from Anvard eastward, and the Narnian and Archenlandian armies have pursued them here. His Majesty Lune and Their Majesties of Narnia request your permission to encamp their men here until the enemy can be engaged."

"Of course!" said Bodmor. "The harvest has been brought in—they might use the fields. But Their Majesties must not bother with such Spartan conditions. They must come and set up their command post here. We have plenty of room, as you see." He nodded to someone over Enna's shoulder. "See to it that the villagers are notified."

"Thank you, Father," said Enna gratefully as Aramir went to see Rack off.

He waved off her thanks. "Eh, I am a military man. It will be nice to have that hustle and bustle about again. But, ah—I hinder you from other greetings."

As if she had been waiting her turn, Reselda rushed forward, scooping up little Erec, and placed a kiss on both of Enna's cheeks. "How do you do, sister?" she asked.

"Very well," Enna said as Erec laughed at the sudden motion. Reselda put the baby right in Enna's arms, and he bounced with glee, playing with the arrows sticking out of Enna's quiver.

"Ah, he _is_ my grandson," Bodmor said proudly, plucking the boy from Enna's arms and tickling him with his beard until he laughed hysterically.

Reselda waited until Bodmor had borne the baby back to his place on the carpet before to ask, "Does my husband accompany you?"

Enna hadn't expected such a direct challenge. It wasn't a challenge, of course—a mere hopeful question—but under the keen stare of her sister-in-law, she felt all her courage drain away.

A bracing hand at her elbow brought a sense of determination back into her soul, however, and she glanced once at Aramir before saying, "Nay."

"Perhaps you should sit, Lady Roscommon," Aramir said gently, moving from Enna's side and drawing Reselda towards her seat, her dark skirts rustling.

"Why?" asked Reselda, her voice high with anxiety. "Is he ill? Did he elect to stay in Anvard?"

Bodmor had ceased playing with Erec and was watching Enna intently.

Enna took a breath, and it caught in her throat. Aramir brought her a chair, pressing insistently on her shoulder until she sat in it, gripping the armrests until her knuckles whitened, trying to think of what to say.

"Does it have aught to do with the ambassadorial journey he led you on?" Bodmor asked tensely.

"Aye," said Aramir quietly.

Reselda gasped.

"The Calormenes…rejected our propositions," Enna said haltingly, "in a most definite manner. We were forced to flee from Tashbaan under cover of night, and…as we rode away, archers on the city walls…"

Reselda's hands were over her mouth, and Bodmor sat with a strange rigidity in his chair. Erec began to fuss over something, but when no one moved to tend to him, Aramir reached down and took the little boy to the window, where he had him entertained momentarily with various trinkets dug up from his pockets.

Enna forced herself to say the words. "Endrit urged us to go ahead as we escaped, and it was not until after he did not return to camp that…that Aramir went in search of him and found…" She drew a deep breath. "He had caught one of the Calormene arrows. He was…gone before we could help him."

There. It was out.

Bodmor and Reselda turned identical shades of white. Reselda's mouth gaped soundlessly, and the lines around Bodmor's eyes deepened just as his grip on the armrests of his chair tightened.

"Father," Enna whispered, "I—"

Bodmor's eyes were steely, and they were fixed on the carpet by Enna's feet. "Get out."

Enna blinked. "Wha—"

"Get out of my sight, murderer," he repeated slowly, still staring fixedly at the floor. "I no longer desire to see you."

Enna waited a moment longer, and when it became obvious that Bodmor did not intend to acknowledge her presence any further, she slowly stood from her seat, the movement of her dirty skirts sounding deafeningly loud in the silence. Aramir hesitated a moment, then carefully put Erec back on the carpet and bowed soundlessly to the Roscommons before taking Enna gently by the elbow and steering her out of the room.

The same blue- and white-liveried servant met them outside as Aramir quietly closed the door behind them. "Let me show milord and lady to your chambers," he said with a low bow.

"I don't think we're welcome here any longer," Enna managed.

"I will wait for direct orders from my mistress to that regard, milady," the servant said, and bowed once more before setting off down the corridor.

Enna would not have followed, had Aramir not put his arm around her shoulders and forced her to put one foot in front of the other. "Don't feel bad," he said bracingly. "They are just grieving. When they have come to terms with—"

She shook her head and motioned for him to be quiet. He obligingly fell silent but did not remove his arm from around her, for which Enna was secretly grateful. She knew she should feel guilty and grief-stricken for the loss of her brother, but all she could feel was affront and hurt at her father's reaction. How dare he treat her so cruelly, when all she had known was pain and fear? It was not as if she could have prevented Endrit's death. Necessarily, all these thoughts crowded together and bruised Enna's newly fragile conscience, and she had to blink back tears at the horror of what she was actually thinking. Her brother—her father's only son, and a husband and father in his own right—was dead, murdered, and all she could think was how her feelings were injured? What kind of a person was she? The thoughts threatened to break her into pieces, and she felt sure they would have if Aramir had not been there to hold her together.

"Milady?"

She stirred. "Hm?"

The servant bowed. "As I was saying, milady, this will be your chamber for the duration of your visit. I trust you will find it quite comfortable."

At Aramir's urging, Enna took a breath and went into the room. As was to be expected, it was brightly lit, and the wide windows looked out onto the shallow, yellow-sanded beach and the restless grey Sea. North of the private shores was a distant outcropping of towering cliffs, and the torch in a red lighthouse flickered faintly atop them. The room itself was of the same brown stone as the rest of the estate, but the walls were draped in tapestries and the furniture was all of blonde wood. Cheery. It was much too cheery for Enna's current mood.

"Let me show milord to your chambers," said the servant, and Aramir hesitated by her door a fraction of a second before following him away.

As soon as their footsteps receded, Enna shut the door softly, latched it, and stripped her things from her shoulders and hips, tossing them to the bed. They landed noiselessly on the airy comforter, but Endrit's sword, by far the heaviest, sank deeply into the feather coverlet, leaving a deep indentation. Enna stared at it for a long moment before turning to the windows and sharply drawing the drapes shut, curtaining the room in sudden darkness. She could no longer see her reflection in the mirror across the room; everything was in shadow, and she hence could hug her knees in front of the fresh fire, rocking herself in an effort to settle her stomach and hinder the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks.

Just as she thought she'd gotten herself together, there came a gentle knock at the door. "Enna? Enna, let me in."

Despite herself, Enna leapt to her feet and undid the latch. "I don't need your sympathy," she said automatically as she stepped aside to let Aramir in.

"Like bilge, you don't," he replied matter-of-factly. "And besides, I'm not here to offer sympathy. Just a listening ear, should you need it." As he spoke, he began to light the candles in the room, brightening the oppressive darkness without bringing the unbearable joy of sunlight into it.

"I won't need it," Enna muttered, turning her back on him and rubbing her arms.

He sat cross-legged on the flagstones next to her. "I see—companionable silence. I _am_ fond of those."

And he went mute as a Dumb Beast.

Enna knew after just a few moments into the awkward noiselessness that he knew she needed sympathy. Slowly, she lowered herself to the stones next to him and fiddled with the hem of her gown, trying to keep her chin from wobbling. "Two siblings dead in as many years," she said at last. "And responsible for both."

Aramir said nothing.

Enna leaned a half-centimeter until her shoulder rested securely against his, desperate for validation. "If my uncle hadn't sent my father to that island, he would never have fallen sick or given it to my sister, and then she would have never fallen out of that window and I would have never come here and thus never caused Endrit to be shot to death by Calormenes."

"You mustn't blame yourself like that, then, Enna," Aramir replied. "I think you've done the best with what you've been given."

Enna choked back a sob. "I just wish it hadn't involved the death of my family."

Aramir put his arms around her and held her firmly. "You still have family, you know."

The mere sensation of his embrace, combined with the overwhelming pine-y and distantly soapy smell that Enna had grown to associate with him, was enough to make her curl up into a ball and sob like a child. As it was, she managed to keep herself together long enough to push away from him and say, "'Tis a shame they all despise me now."

"There are some who love you," he said quietly.

Enna turned her head and hid her tears from him. "Erec, perhaps. Because he knows no better."

Aramir took her hand and placed a handkerchief into it, folding her fingers gently around the wad of cloth. "I remember when I discovered that my family had been killed," he said. "All I could think about was how fierce you had looked after _your_ mother had died. 'Let Sabsestrin bring what he may,' you said. 'Even if Cair Paravel itself falls, _I_ will never yield to him. Not ever.' It gave me courage, too.

Despite all the tumultuous emotions in her head and mind, Enna could not help but feel distantly delighted that she had been the center of his thoughts at this his darkest hour. Shaking her head and mopping her face with the handkerchief, she said, "But if he kills all that I hold dear, what else is there to fight for?"

"You must remember, Enna," he replied. "He has not killed them all."

Enna bowed her head over her knees and let the tears come. She was vaguely aware of him pulling her into his arms again, but this time she went willingly, clinging desperately to him and weeping into his shoulder; in the distance, even over her own tears, she could hear Reselda's wailing, and she shuddered violently.

He held onto her even long after she had stopped crying. She wished she had the courage to push away, but it was so consoling and soothing and _easy_ to be folded up in his arms, the checked strength she could apprehend moving in the muscles not frightening her, but rather giving her the almost foreign sense of security. "I wish none of this had happened," she murmured, the rhythmic pounding of his heart making her feel rather sleepy.

"None of it?" he replied softly.

"None."

"Not even discovering you were not a Galmanian?"

Enna had to smile a bit at this. "Well, perhaps that."

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, but before Enna had a chance to fully enjoy it, there came a firm knock at her door.

"Who is it?" she stammered, lurching out of Aramir's arm and stumbling to her feet.

"Peter," came the reply.

Enna was loath to leave the side of the man she loved to meet a man that she did not, but she went to the door anyway and unlatched it. "Made it up all right, then?"

He frowned when he saw her red-rimmed eyes. "Have you been weeping?"

"I had to tell my father about my brother," Enna answered stiffly.

"Ah. Poor dear. Well, we're setting up camp and making the war room ready. Your father seems quite keen to assist us in any way he can. Won't you come out of this stuffy hole in the wall and help, too?"

"All right," Enna said quietly. "Give me a minute."

Peter nodded, and she closed the door. As soon as the catch had fallen into place, Aramir pulled the curtains aside and cool autumn sunlight streamed into the room. "There," he said gently, approaching her. "Only werewolves and hags are afraid of the sun."

Enna managed a smile, and he briefly touched her chin. "Buck up for now, Enna, lass. Change your frock and order some poor souls around, and I daresay you'll begin to feel a bit more like yourself."

"Aye, captain," she responded softly, and he grinned.

"See you in a bit, then."

"Of course."

He nodded, lingered a minute, then let himself out, closing the door softly and leaving Enna alone with her thoughts.


	42. Chapter Forty Two

_A/N: Well! It's taken long enough for me to update, eh? I thank my weeklong break from school. Happy Thanksgiving to all my fellow Americans! What are _you_ thankful for?_

_In other news, Schmo has begun writing her own Narnia fics! Be looking for those to be posted someday, hopefully soon. :)_

_In other other news, voting over at NFFR has begun! Follow the link at the top of our profile to vote for Schmo and Sushi for the 2009 Revolution Awards!_

--

It took Enna a good half-hour to wash her face, change her frock, and begin to feel a bit more like herself. Once she had succeeded, she pinched her cheeks to bring back their color and left her room, heading in the direction from which the loudest voices came. After a moment or so of wandering, she came unto an open door through which fauns and falcons were hurrying in and out of, some carrying scrolls of parchment and others whispering messages to themselves.

"And so I say we circle around this natural hill," Peter was saying as she entered. He, Edmund, Bodmor, Aramir, Lune, and a few other Narnians and Archenlanders were clustered about a table, pointing down at a map while the war room was set up around them.

"It is not so high as the map makes it out to be, my liege," said Bodmor, his voice clear and crisp and giving no indication whatsoever of his recent grief. "It has grown densely forested in recent years, and is quite unbreachable. Should we be backed up against it, we shall have no means of escape."

"I see, I see," Peter murmured, stroking his golden beard. "Ah, Enna, you are here at last. Do come here and tell us what you make of the situation."

"I wouldn't dare presume," Enna said quietly.

"Nonsense," said Peter. "Gentlemen, you see here before you one of the keenest military minds of our generation."

Normally, such praise would have delighted Enna, but today, under the hawkish stare of her father, it burned. She went forward nonetheless, head bowed meekly, and slipped between Aramir and King Lune, looking down at where the majority of fingers were directed.

"You see before you a map of eastern Archenland, milady," said Peter. "Our dilemma is this: the islanders are congregating here, if our scouts are correct." He jabbed a finger at a spot several miles north of Roscommon, where a natural bay carved itself into the coast of Archenland. "They are meeting warships there, and we can only guess that they plan to strike hard, strike fast, and then flee east by water."

"Are they resupplying?" Enna asked.

"We assume so. The Galmanian and Terebinthian armies are small in comparison to ours, and so they cannot be bolstering their men."

Enna looked at the foreign map carefully, memorizing each line and name as best she could. "So what is your dilemma, then?"

"We are discussing how to engage them successfully."

"Ours is the largest army, you said?"

"Aye," broke in King Lune proudly, "and the better of the two, if I say so."

There was general agreement.

Enna bit her lip, tracing the curve of the shoreline with her fingertip. "Sabsestrin will not hesitate to strike. I say we play to our advantages—a defensive war—and ready ourselves for battle tomorrow morning. I will bet he will come then, and if not, we can go to him. At any rate, we must preserve Roscommon with everything."

"Indeed," said Bodmor. It was small comfort, but the fact that he agreed soothed Enna's conscience slightly.

"The lady Enna has broken the tie, gentlemen," said Aramir.

"That she has," said Peter. "It is my decision, therefore, to mobilize for battle at sunrise tomorrow morning. We shall meet them at the bay, and keep them from advancing further south."

"I recommend," Enna cut in, "leaving a large contingent to guard the feoff and castle. It is of inestimable worth, and must be protected."

Lune and Peter narrowed their lips. "I don't like to think of taking any of my men from the front lines," said Lune.

"Nor do I," said Peter. "But Enna speaks wisdom—if the castle is taken, we may well lay down our arms and surrender. Nay, we shall leave no fewer than one hundred and fifty archers and fifty footmen to guard the city."

"My liege has spoken judiciousness that belies his years," said Lune approvingly.

"I thank you, friend Lune."

"Very good," said the fat old king. "Now that that's settled—I say, get the villagers into the safety of the castle and bolt the doors, then begin preparing for battle."

"Excellent idea." Peter motioned to a centaur standing by the door. "Orieus, bring word to Captain Krik to begin mobilization, and order Captain Finch to move all the villagers inside the castle walls. You are in agreement, are you not, Lord Bodmor?"

"Entirely, my liege," answered Bodmor with a bow.

"Very good. Carry on, Orieus."

The centaur bowed and left the room. Edmund began rolling up the map, and as soon as everyone had stepped away from the small table, it was whisked away by two Dwarfs who replaced it soon with a scarred but much larger draft table. "I believe your work here is done, Enna," he announced. "To victory, eh?"

"To Narnia and the North!" Lune crowed, pounding his fist on the table.

Enna curtsied slightly and hurried from the room. The atmosphere out of the vicinity of her father was much clearer, and she could breathe easier knowing he wasn't silently chastising her with his eyes.

"Where will you go?" came Aramir's soft voice in her ear.

"I thought of going to speak to Reselda," Enna replied quietly, turning until she could see his shoulder out of the corner of her eye. "I owe her more than the hasty apology I gave earlier."

"That's noble of you."

"I wish I believed you."

Aramir sighed. "I believe she is in the nursery with Erec."

Enna nodded slowly, knotting her skirts in one hand. "I'll go there, then."

"Sir Aramir, we await you," called Lune from inside the room.

"Will you be all right, going by yourself?" Aramir asked gently.

"What do you take me for?" Enna snapped. "I am not a child."

He inclined his head and bowed wordlessly, then went back into the war room and shut the solid oak door firmly behind him. Enna was thus left in the hall, feeling rather chastened and more than a bit apprehensive about the duty she was now forced to fulfill alone.

"Excuse me," she said, staying a blue- and white-liveried servant girl who happened to pass by in the corridor. "Tell me, where is the young lord's nursery? I am his aunt by way of his father."

"Follow the hall as far as it'll go, milady," said the girl, "and then open the door to your left and follow the staircase upwards. His nursery is at the very top of the tower."

"Thank you," said Enna, dismissing her and turning to go down the corridor. It seemed to take forever to reach the door, but as soon as Enna turned the knob and began ascending the staircase, it was suddenly much too soon. What was she even going to say to Reselda? _I'm sorry that I killed your husband. Friends?_ Hardly. She could not blame the woman if she pushed her out the tower window.

All too quickly, she came to the top of the staircase. There was a small landing, and beyond it a door that was wide open, displaying a room bathed in cool autumn sunlight from great windows that opened on the sea on one side and the courtyard far below on the other. Reselda in her dark dress sat inside on a rocking chair, toothless Erec in her arms, while an elderly nursemaid folded diapers nearby and a young servant girl darned tiny socks.

Enna could not bear to disrupt this homely scene.

"Come in, Enna, dear," said Reselda, not looking up.

Hesitating, Enna approached the threshold. "Am I interrupting?"

"Hardly. Sit, sit, for I wish for there to be no hard feelings between us."

This was hardly the reaction Enna expected. It was much better! Heartened, she came all the way into the room and sat on the cushioned window seat next to Reselda's chair, her back to the open glass. "I, too, wish for there to be friendship between the two of us."

"Katla, fetch the lady Enna a mug of mead." Once the young servant was gone, Reselda took Erec, swaddled in a blanket, and leaned forward, offering him to Enna. "Here. He is your nephew as much as he is my son."

Enna took the baby for the first time of her own accord, marveling at the child's heavy delicacy. One wrong move could break his tiny bones…_but I will never allow that to happen_. As she cradled him, he tugged on her slapdash plait with clumsy hands, attempting to draw it into his mouth to gnaw upon. "No, no, Erec," she said, gently pulling it free and tucking the blanket tighter around his little frame.

"Is he not the dearest thing?" Reselda whispered.

"He is the dearest thing I have ever met," Enna replied truthfully, touching the baby's fat cheek with one finger.

"Endrit wanted him to grow to be a knight," said Reselda slowly. "'Better a knight than a master make,' he always used to say. 'For a master rules but a knight knows what is submission.' What a wise man he was. I daresay no one else has thought that a good lord is one who knows what it is like to be obedient first."

Enna nodded, almost entirely engaged with Erec's little antics. "Endrit was a good man."

Reselda sighed and stood, pacing to the window, her skirts rustling noisily. "I wonder how I will live without him."

"Strong women always make do, Reselda," Enna replied in what she hoped was a comforting tone. Erec cooed.

Reselda was silent a moment, but said after that pause, "I think you shall make a fine mother, Enna."

"Why do you say that?"

"I can see it in your manner. You love few, but I think that those you love, you love deeply, and a child cannot ask for more than that."

Enna could not answer immediately, wondering vaguely if she should be flattered by Reselda's words or concerned. Instead, she slipped a finger into Erec's tiny hand, and was delighted when the child gripped it with a strength that discredited his size.

For a long moment, there was no sound but the creak of the window as a breeze pushed past it, the fluttering of wings as birds burst from a thicket nearby, and the distant roar of the ocean on one side and the distant chatter of incoming villagers from the courtyard on the other.

"You are blessed by this child, Reselda," Enna said, straightening and looking up for her sister-in-law. To her surprise, though, Reselda was nowhere to be found!

The elder nursemaid looked up from her diaper folding, blinking with cloudy eyes. "Did my mistress step out, milady?"

Carefully, Enna placed Erec in his crib, tilted it until it began to rock, and went to the staircase to call down, "Reselda?"

"It is I, milady," called the young maidservant, coming up the winding steps with a mug of mead.

"Did Lady Reselda pass you?" Enna asked.

"Why, nay, milady."

A sudden dark, dreadful sensation settled into the pit of Enna's stomach. Her alarm must have shown on her face, for the maid dropped the mug, shattering it against the stone step, and together they raced into the room. Enna flung herself against the ocean window, leaning out of it and peering down at the steep, rocky slope that led down to the craggy beach. There was no dark figure below—for that much she was grateful, and she sagged heavily against the sill.

Her relief was short-lived, however. Just as she was sighing gladly, the maidservant stifled a cry of horror and stumbled away from the window.

"What is it?" Enna hissed.

The woman clapped a hand to her mouth and shook her head mutely, requiring the assistance of the elder to retain her footing.

Enna rushed to the other window, thrusting her head out of it, and gazed down into the courtyard. There on the cobblestones, more than five stories below, lay a dark, crumpled figure. A pool of dark, glistening blood, marred by bits of matter, was forming around her head, and a crowd was beginning to form around her, their gasps and cries of horror making their way up to Enna in the tower.

She staggered away from the window. Everything suddenly seemed strangely surreal—as if nothing that she was seeing had actually occurred, that she was dreaming it all. Suicide was _not done_…the shame it brought upon a family…

Even as these thoughts spun crazily in her head, Enna found herself lurching down the stairs, holding onto the stone walls with both hands for balance. _Everyone knows…seeing is believing…I have yet to see…_

The hallway she stepped into was clogged with people rushing to and fro. Strangely, they all seemed to be coming and going from the courtyard, their faces, whether animal or human, tense and white.

_Seeing is believing_…

The crowd in the courtyard had grown to a massive size. Somehow, Enna elbowed her way through smelly farmers and frizzy-haired matrons to the very front lines, where she took in the entire gruesome scene. Reselda's blood was spattered several feet in each direction, some splashed up against the stone tower that she had leapt from. She was lying facedown in the red puddle, her limbs and back twisted unnaturally and the white skin of the back of her neck oddly bruised. Next to her knelt a grey-bearded gentleman, his face drawn and taught.

"Is she…" whispered Enna.

He nodded stiffly.

The news did not surprise her. As the man straightened, she felt a familiar touch at her elbow, and she blundered blindly into Aramir's arms. "Another one…another one…" was all she could say, fighting the urge to retch.

He seemed to sense her anguish, for he began to move her almost bodily from the oppressive crowd, his arm tight around her waist and other hand gripping hers bracingly as she tottered queasily from the scene.

They did not get very far, however, before a voice rang out. "Who is the man who calls himself Aramir Ealion?"

Enna faltered, but Aramir ignored the summons and continued to lead her to fresh air. "They call you," she whispered.

"You are not well," he replied.

"Who is Aramir Ealion?" came the call again?

Enna summoned a determination she did not know she had, and called out, "It is he! This man is Aramir Ealion."

The crowd parted for the grey-bearded gentleman. His hand was stained with gore, so he did not offer it to Aramir, but merely bowed briefly and said, "As counselor to His Lordship Endrit Roscommon, it is my duty to inform you that His Lordship, as you may know, named you in his will as executor of his estate, beneficiary and heir to title, property, offspring, and power, should ill befall him or his mistress. How do you claim?"

Enna resisted the urge to cling to Aramir's arm. Oh, how could she have forgotten the power Aramir held over her family?

Quite calmly, he answered, "I am aware of his lordship's actions. In light of the circumstances, though, I gladly disclaim the position to its rightful owner, Lord Bodmor."

"Very well, sir," said the counselor, and bowed himself away rather quickly.

"I'm glad that's over with, then," Aramir said to Enna. "Now, I think some plain mead will settle your stomach. Let's go to the kitchen and try to rest our sensibilities."

At that moment, Enna was so filled with love for him that she very nearly burst into tears with the force of it. As it were, he noticed her glistening eyes and said, "There, there. I won't pretend to patch things up. I can only help it make more sense. Mm?"

Enna could only squeeze his hand.


	43. Chapter Forty Three

_A/N: Don't forget, voting for NFFR's Revolution Awards ends on the 19__th__! So go vote for us! :)_

_Also, I apologize for the lateness of this chapter—but brace yourselves, I made up for the lateness with the length!_

--

The next day dawned bright and early—too much so for Enna's liking. She rose from her bed with the sun, having hardly slept a wink, and glanced out her window at the grey ocean only to see first the rough waves and then the bobbing Terebinthian galleons. The ships were still significantly far from shore, but she knew (with a sort of dry, detached amusement) that their presence meant a battle mere hours away.

Sure enough, before she even had the chance to change out of her nightgown, there came a quick knock at her door. Wrapping a robe around herself, she found Lucy, her hair askew and dress rumpled, as if she'd suddenly rolled out of bed and put yesterday's clothes on. "Did you see the ships, then?" Enna asked her.

Lucy nodded excitedly. "Peter has started mobilizing the infantry and cavalry. Did you know that the enemy army is gathering on those northern bluffs? Mark my words, there'll be a mighty battle here shortly." Even as she spoke this dark news, her bright eyes sparkled with enthusiasm and adrenaline.

"It will be a thunderous confrontation, I don't doubt," Enna said. "Now—did Peter relay any instructions for me?"

Biting her lip thoughtfully, Lucy wrinkled her nose and said, "Aye. And I feel most terribly for you."

"Why?" Enna asked, suddenly awake.

"He's decided you're to stay with the archers. You poor thing…"

Enna laughed briefly in relief. For a moment, she had thought that he would send her into the field! Not ever did she wish to experience that kind of combat again. "I don't mind, really."

"Well, he's letting _me_ ride along with him as an aide," Lucy replied proudly. "Hardly the work for a queen, but it's better than having to evade dozens of guards, which he did threaten me with."

Enna smiled.

"Well, I should let you dress, for Peter wants everyone ready to fight as soon as possible. Oh—and I spoke to Tamlyn (the daughter of Lord Markis, if you remember)—"

"Of course I remember."

"—and she said that your Narnian chainmail is packed in the bottom of your trunk. And she sends her greetings, as she is very busy with being a lord's daughter again."

"How kind of her. I thank you."

Lucy nodded her head, curtsied once, and bobbed away down the corridor, leaving Enna to dress herself alone. It felt very strange, putting on mail again, and especially so without Tamlyn's irritating chatter as she dressed. She managed, though: first a wool underdress, as it was getting extremely cold out, then the last clean frock she owned: unfortunately, a rather pretty, if not faded, periwinkle purple cotton with sleeves that were looser in the arm than the wrist and a dull fleur-de-lis pattern along the lower hem. Over this she slipped a rust-red tunic, and then dropped the heavy chainmail down onto her shoulders and shook it into place before clasping a belt around her waist to keep the armor in place. This done, she plaited her hair with extra caution, making sure to capture every stray curl, and retrieved her bow and quiver.

"You're supposed to defeat the enemy, not look presentable, silly goose," she told herself the moment she caught sight of her homely appearance in the mirror as she passed it to go out the door. With that, she nearly left, but at the last moment, she darted back, picked up Endrit's heavy sword, and buckled it to her belt. It was a sudden, unnatural weight at her hip, but it felt somehow more noble than just the silly quiver slung over her shoulder.

That done, she finally left, and helped herself to a buttery biscuit offered by a tray-bearing servant girl as she went down the hall. So absorbed was she by the soft warmth of the snack that she scarcely realized until she was passing the door that she had found Aramir's chamber—he was standing inside by the bed, a leather jerkin tied over his otherwise everyday simple creamy tunic, clean but faded trousers, and travel-worn boots. He was clearly mid-armoring, as he held a dark gambeson in his arms and was apparently looking for the opening.

"Do you require assistance, milord?" Enna asked, stepping onto the threshold.

Aramir looked back, grinned, and said, "It has been so long since I have donned armor that I've quite forgotten how to put it all on."

"Consider that a blessing." She swallowed the last bit of her biscuit and continued, "Let me help you."

He handed her the gambeson, and she began to loosen the ties that held the padded jacket together. "There. Try that."

She gave it back to him, and he pulled it on over his tunic (Enna realized with a pleasant jolt that it was the tunic _she_ had made for him almost a year ago) and tightened the ties up again. "Thank you."

"Even the mightiest warrior needs help from time to time," she replied, looking at him archly.

"Don't I know it," he sighed. Picking up his coat of chainmail, he pulled it on over his head and emerged red-faced and tousle-haired, but significantly more intimidating. When Enna told him this, he laughed and said, "But one sharp rap on the shins, and I shall be done for. I haven't got any greaves or even mail trousers."

His tone was lighthearted, but his words made Enna's stomach clench. "Will you be in the lines, then?" she asked.

"Indeed. Peter wishes for me to lead the left center brigade…I shall be right in the heat of it all."

Enna couldn't help but touch the yet-unrepaired tear in the sleeve of his mail, where a Galmanian sword had slashed open his arm in the spring. "You must swear by the Lion you'll stay safe."

"I swear by the Lion that I'll accept anything the Lion decides concerning my safety," Aramir replied softly, tilting his head as he looked at her earnestly.

"Oh, I _do_ hate it when you're right," Enna whispered.

He grinned. "There. How about I swear by the Lion not to do anything foolish, if you swear to do the same?"

"Wholeheartedly!"

"Then we have a deal." Aramir nodded with finality and pulled over his chainmail the same rather moth-eaten crimson, lion-emblazoned tabard that he had worn in Narnia, then a mail coif that lay wrinkled around his neck. "But it shall be easier for me to keep my end of the deal than for you."

Enna wrinkled her nose at him. "You, Aramir Ealion, are a cruel master, with a head as large as a spoiled palace pup."

He swept a bow that jingled from all the armor. "And you, Enna Aldenthew, are a mistress equally as cruel, with a wit as stinging as a bumblebee's pollen-dusted ass."

Enna laughed with shock. "Language, milord!"

"As my mistress requests," he replied, winking roguishly.

She had to hide her pink face in a convenient trip to the window, under the guise of looking upon the Terebinthian galleons. They still bobbed a half-league out to sea, with no sign of approaching any closer or sailing away.

When she turned back, her blush receding, Aramir had opened his trunk and was sifting through it, frowning. "Lose something?" she asked teasingly.

"As a matter of fact," Aramir replied, closing the lid and pushing the chest aside to look behind it, "aye. Arondight. I can't believe I misplaced it."

Enna thought briefly about chiding him for losing his sword (a warrior's most important possession, didn't he know) but then thought better of it. Besides, an instant later she caught a glimpse of a shadow behind the half-open door of the chamber. Slipping around him as he dug under the bed, she reached behind the door and pulled out the missing sword, complete with its belt and sheath. "You must have put it there last night."

He stood up, sighing in relief. "Thank the Lion. It seems like Arondight is a part of me, as silly as it seems."

"It doesn't seem silly to me," Enna replied softly, handing him the heavy weapon.

Aramir smiled gently at her as he reached around to buckle the belt. It was only about halfway around his waist, however, before he went suddenly white, and he dropped the belt, Arondight and all, to the flagstones.

"Are you all right?" Enna asked, hurrying forward.

He was sagging on the corner of the armoire, breathing heavily and still ashen, but he nodded.

Enna slipped her arm around him and supported him the best she could, trying to ignore the cold sweat that was beading up on his upper lip. "You're not. What's wrong?"

"It's just my back," he said breathlessly. "I'll be right as rain in a moment. There." He straightened, and some of the color came back into his cheeks. "Already better."

"What happened?" Enna pressed, feeling a bit sick with worry.

He shook his head gently. "There's nothing to be so worried about. The air here is just a bit damper than I'm used to. Aggravates some old complaints…" He chuckled. "I sound like an old man."

"Old complaints?"

"Aye."

Enna slipped out from under his arm and began to roll up the chainmail and gambeson.

"Enna, stop it—"

She slapped his hands away, and succeeded in pulling his clothing up high enough that the whole of his back was bared. The instant her eyes fell upon it, though, she wished she hadn't been so rash. He stood there patiently as she, too horrified to look away, gazed upon all the awful scars, some almost twelve inches long, that arced across his freckled flesh. Some were old and white, but still others were pink and raised, wreaking such havoc on his skin that, if Enna had not known she was looking upon a living human, she would have thought him a slave beaten to death and then dashed against stones.

One particular scar, though, was an angry red, and it stretched from Aramir's left shoulder blade to almost the right side of his abdomen. Unlike the others, it was not raised; it was a deep trench, and Enna vaguely remembered seeing it when she first met the lad over a year ago. It did not look much healed since then. Tenderly, she touched it, feeling how deep her fingertip went into the furrow, until he straightened sharply, drawing in a breath. The cruel whip, she surmised, must have caught a rib as it gashed across his flesh.

"Oh, Aramir," she whispered, carefully replacing all his garments. "I had no idea it was this bad…"

"It's _not_ this bad," he replied lightly. "I'm perfectly all right."

"You're in no condition to fight," she protested. "What if your back should seize mid-parry? Or weaken you to the point that you can't even lift your sword in defense?"

"I'm no weakling, Enna," Aramir retorted.

"I never said such a thing. But you—"

"If you're so worried about me," he said crossly, "then put the sword on yourself and spare me the trouble." Challengingly, he thrust the hilt of Arondight at her.

Enna snatched it and the belt from him. "Very well, _milord,_" she answered, and pulled Arondight out of its sheath before she slipped her arms around Aramir's waist and brought the ends of the belt together in front. Even though she was flushed with vexation, the unbidden thought weaseled into her mind as she fussed with the buckle: in Galma, the act of a maiden outfitting a man with his weapon before a battle was a sign of loyalty and love. Even more so was the act of a man asking a maiden to do so!

She wondered if Aramir knew this.

In any case, she picked up the bare sword from where she'd tossed it on his bed and dropped it back into the sheath. "There. Satisfied, _milord_?"

He sniffed and said, "Enough so. Now get ye gone."

Enna tossed her plait at him and began to stalk out of the chamber. Before she got very far, though, she heard a tinkle of his chainmail and the next moment his arms were tight around her. She briefly wondered what in the world was going on, but then she remembered what they were both about to embark upon.

"We have the worst habit of going into deadly situations in the midst of arguments," she murmured against his shoulder.

"A definite vice," he replied softly.

Enna detached herself from his embrace with a great effort. "You're making me think of morbid things, Aramir," she said broadly, focusing intently on each word and keeping an expression that was carefully neutral. It would do no good to get teary now!

"Of course," he said, and drew his shoulders back. "You're right. We are warriors, you and I. We must keep stiff upper lips."

"Right," said Enna, and they shook hands briskly. "The Lion be with you."

As she turned to leave, Aramir smiled. "I think he will be."

--

It really was a fine winter's day, Enna thought as a cold, damp wind whipped around Roscommon's battlements. She and the other Narnian and Archenlandian archers stood facing the northern hills, where there were distant globs of darkness and colorless fluttering banners. The sun, hidden behind low clouds, was drifting steadily past noon, and still the two great armies clashed, first one flank and then another being engaged. Yet as long as they struggled, there came no sign of any danger posed to the castle.

"I almost wish they would make an advance," the faun Piretus (commander of the outfit) fretted to her, his short tail twitching restlessly. "I do hate standing uselessly about."

"As a warrior of your stature ought, Marshal Piretus," Enna answered. "But you forget—some of us are yet untried. Or at least have not hefted a bow in too long."

"Ah, aye," Piretus sighed. "I had feared such would be the case, sending you into sword country. Well, at least I see you remember how to hold the bow."

Enna flushed. "I was not necessarily speaking about myself, Marshal."

"Perhaps, but you might as well have been."

"I think I shall inspect our right," Enna replied with a toss of her plait, and moved away from the wall before the faun could insult her further. In the line were several comrades she recognized from when she was still in Narnian company; in particular, she recognized the flaming red hair of Lord Lorendo, the Nymrunian, and some of his entourage. When she nodded courteously to them, their blank faces told her that they did not recall her face, but then Lorendo stepped away from his post and bowed.

"My lady Enna. I apologize for our lateness in acknowledging your presence—our time apart has altered you."

"How so?" Enna blurted. "Er—pardon me, I mean…forgiven and forgotten, milord."

Lorendo smiled beneath his beard and said, "Milady is much healthier-looking."

"I did look a bit like a drowned rat when you first met me," Enna admitted, remembering the pallor of her skin.

"And now you flush like a young lady ought to," Lorendo replied.

"Thank you, milord. I wish you the Lion's luck today."

"And also to you, milady."

They nodded again, and Enna proceeded to the right wing of the line of archers. John Small, whose intimidating bulk made him ideal for that flank, held a delicate longbow in a meaty hand, drawing a stark contrast between warrior and weapon.

"How do you feel, John?" Enna asked.

"Ready to wring some Galmanian necks, lady," he barked happily.

"He's always ready to wring some necks, the big lug," came a familiar voice. From John's left, a dark face peered at Enna and winked roguishly.

Enna blinked. "Robin?"

The teasing look on the man's face disappeared in an instant, and he shushed her quickly as a few archers gave them bland glances. "I'm not Robin, milady," he said. "My name is Ertu. I'm a Telmarine."

Enna understood the ruse in an instant, and she lowered her voice. "So you'd prefer to be thought half-savage than Robin Goodfellow?"

"The bounty on my head is worth almost half of His Majesty Lune's worldly wealth. All the 'Wanted' posters depict me in battle gear—so I must make necessary changes. You understand, I'm sure…"

"Conceded," Enna sighed. "But I'm sure Lune will drop the charges against you if he hears of your sacrifices for Archenland."

"Sure, I must tell him eventually," Robin answered. "See, John here went and got himself captured, and the truth will someday come out. I'd like it to be on my terms."

"Captured?" Enna repeated, not understanding.

As John giggled, Robin leaned forward and said rather disparagingly, "His _heart_, Queenie. By a maiden."

"Really!" Enna exclaimed. "Oh, who?"

"Who else?" Robin said. "Your little palace mouse—Lady Tamlyn."

Enna couldn't help but smile. "I should have guessed. And her father approved, then, John?"

"We're to elope tonight," John answered with an ear-to-ear grin. "He'll never let her wed me, otherwise."

"Well, I support the match wholeheartedly," Robin said. As he spoke, soft white snowflakes began to drift down from the overcast sky.

Enna wasn't quite sure what to think of the whole situation. "The things that happen when I turn my back for a few days! But…if you think it best…"

"_Oyez_! Look there!"

The shout came from further up the line. Everyone turned to look where the person was pointing. Lo and behold, a white bannerette was fluttering over the Galmanian and Terebinthian lines. The archers watched silently for many long minutes. Finally, up went a red flag that was waved to and fro five brisk times before being taken down again: a whoop of delight went up the line. The islanders had been taken in defeat!

"Wait, wait!" cried Piretus, pointing again. A black raven was flying towards the battlements with all speed, the flapping of its wings audible from a distance.

At last, it alighted on a merlon and, breathlessly, squawked, "His Majesty Edmund, King of Narnia, relates this message to Field Marshal Piretus and outfit: Galma and Terebinthia have surrendered; His Lordship Duke Naval (or whatever his blasted title is—Sabsestrin Stalresin) is presumed dead. Details are pending, but it looks as though both armies shall sail this night for the islands. As of now, a cease-fire, but I shall draft a treaty tonight and send it on to Helmin of Galma and Tortrigr of Terebinthia. Otherwise, expect the Narnian and Archenlandian wounded to begin to arrive within a few minutes of this missive.

"Congratulations, my friends, we have won yet another war against those who would do harm to our homelands. Edmund Rex."

At first, Enna wasn't quite sure what was happening, but when John nearly broke her ribs in an enthusiastic embrace and all the Narnians threw their helms into the air, she felt a raw cry scraping from her throat. It was first and foremost a cry of delight—they had won!—but mixed into it was an overwhelming surge of other emotion: relief, joy, regret, and grief. Finally, two years of torture were over—her uncle was dead, damn his soul, and she could return to Narnia in peace.

At the first sound of troops in the courtyard below, Enna abandoned her post and ran down the stairs, breathless with anticipation: she could not wait to witness the triumphant entrance of the officers. She was not disappointed: a runner, rather winded, called out, "Their Majesties High King Peter, King Edmund, Queen Lucy, and King Lune."

A cheer burst forth from the villagers and army clingers-on that had gathered into the castle for protection as the throng of mounted military men and creatures came over the drawbridge and into the main keep. They all looked especially tired, but they rode loosely and laughed easily. As soon as Lucy spotted Enna, she flung herself from her horse and caught the older girl in a tight embrace.

"Oh, Enna, aren't you _so_ glad?" she breathed, dirty-faced but beaming.

"More than you know!" Enna cried, squeezing Lucy's shoulders. "Oh, where is Aramir? Where is Peter? I must thank them both…"

"Peter is here," came his voice. He approached them with his helmet under one arm and a tired smile beneath his beard. "How do you feel, Enna?"

Enna knew it was perhaps rather imprudent to do so, but she stepped forward and hugged Peter very briefly. At the very least, he was gentlemanly enough to notice the tears in her eyes and not to press her for words any further.

"We shall be honored to have you grace our court at Cair Paravel, Enna," he said. "As soon as the treaty is completed and signed, we shall make all haste for Narnia. I intend to send for our finest ship this very night."

Enna nodded wordlessly (if she so much as opened her mouth, she would burst into tears) and pulled his signet ring from her finger, placing it in his palm. Let it never be said, at least, that she could not keep her end of a bargain!

Peter smiled and patted her hand. "There, there. Dry your tears. I think there is someone who will rejoice in the Galmanians' defeat just as much as you do…why do you not see to him?"

_Aramir._ She couldn't repress a smile—Peter knew and approved—and even managed to clear her throat and say, "Aye, I could not agree more. Have you seen him?"

"Not recently…but I believe he is probably with the men in their camp outside the castle…I have heard he is rather well-liked in their circles."

Enna smiled again. "I'll go there. Thank you, Peter."

"Think nothing of it."

"Thank you for _everything._"

Peter stopped and nodded, his eyes crinkling. "A follower of the Lion should do no less."

"Why, Peter," said Lucy suddenly, "it's snowing!"

"Indeed, Lu…Christmas is near!"

Enna curtsied herself away and hurried across the courtyard and over the drawbridge, walking in the dry grass alongside the road to avoid being run over by inattentive soldiers. She saw their camp in a sprawling meadow outside the small village, and veered right to head towards it. The soldiers were just starting to report back to their commanders, and the camp itself was rather bare.

"Excuse me," she said to an important-looking Archenlandian. "I'm looking for Sir Aramir Ealion…do you know him?"

"Sure I know him," the man said gruffly. "Haven't seen him since he took on that big Terebinthian, though."

It was at this point that a dark dread began to settle in Enna's stomach. "Will you check the wounded for me, then?"

The man sighed. "Look, little lass, I've got a great deal to do. If you're so intent on finding Sir Aramir, why don't you look yourself?"

Affronted by his brusque manner, Enna put back her shoulders and said, "Very well, then, I will," and stomped out of the camp towards the northern bluffs. She would scour those hills until she was sure Aramir wasn't there, and then work her way back.

The falling snow was sticky, and by the time Enna got to the field of battle (nearly a mile away), it was already starting to clump around fallen bodies. There were a few medical crews searching for survivors, but at the rate they were working, it would be nightfall before all the wounded were brought back to the castle.

So Enna plunged right into the gory mire, stepping over the bodies of horses, Narnians, and men alike. The carnage wreaked by this battle was not as bad as the other one she had seen, but her stomach twisted with every damp step she took.

Suddenly, her eye fell upon a familiar dark head, half-buried under the body of a slain horse. Her heart lurched into her throat, and she heaved the corpse of the horse over enough that she could turn the body over. At first, the bottom dropped out of her stomach at the sight of those unseeing grey eyes, but then she realized that the body was _not_ Aramir, but rather his brother, Captain Minodaurus. Relief flooded her body, and she quickly stepped away from the corpse to continue her search.

The smell of the ocean got stronger as she picked her way through the field, and she realized that she was approaching the rocky cliffs on which stood the red lighthouse. Far in the distance, she could make out the dark shapes of anchored ships.

"Aramir!" she called, her voice echoing. "Aramir!"

There was no reply. The dread in the pit of Enna's stomach grew heavier and more urgent, and she fought queasiness. "Aramir!" she called again, louder.

Still no reply.

_He is probably back at the castle,_ she told herself with a weak laugh. _I'll just make sure he's not here somewhere before turning back._

As is to be expected, Enna found herself at the top of the rocky cliffs, looking down at the dashing waves so many meters below, having found no trace of Aramir. Worried to the point of distraction, she tried to think of all the places Aramir might go where no one would see him enter or leave. Perhaps they had missed each other, she coming onto the field of battle and him leaving it?

She turned her back to the waves, cupped her hands around her mouth, and cried out, "_Aramir_!" one last time.

Suddenly, there was a great clattering sound nearby. At the base of a large boulder, what Enna had assumed to be a pile of discarded armor suddenly sat straight up. "Enna?"

By the Lion himself, it was Aramir!

Enna flung herself at him and almost burst into tears again, but managed to keep herself under control. "You are a terrible, terrible person, Aramir," she raged, pounding her fists on his shield. "Letting me think you were dead!"

"I'm quite all right, Enna," he said earnestly, and clasped her shoulders in his gauntleted hands. "Really!"

"Why didn't you answer me when I called so many times?" she replied, brushing the dark hair away from his clammy brow. He really looked rather pale beneath his freckles.

"I didn't hear you."

"You heard me the last time."

"It's because you were nearby."

"Were you asleep?" Enna challenged, leaning back a bit. Indeed, he looked rather heavy-lidded, tousle-haired, and dry-lipped—how awful was the thought that he had shirked his duties to take a nap behind a rock!

"No," he mused, "no, I don't think so."

Enna frowned. "You don't _think_ so?"

Aramir blinked in thought. "No…I just…I don't really remember…"

The realization dawned suddenly on her. Pushing his arms away, she scrambled back away from him and did not have to look far before she found the source of the problem: a long, gaping wound that stretched from his kneecap to his mid-thigh. It was bleeding freely, and judging by the pool of congealing blood around his leg, it had been doing so for quite some time. Biting her lip, she came close to him again, careful not to jar the injury, and dabbed some of the sweat from his brow with her sleeve, asking, "Are you in much pain?"

He knew what she was talking about, that much was obvious, and he nodded reluctantly and briefly.

She sighed. "Give me your belt."

"Why?"

"Do it, please."

Slowly, like he was moving through water, Aramir pushed himself up against the rock and undid the belt around his waist. Enna took it and buckled it back around his leg above the wound, ignoring his groans of protest. "You of all people should know the bleeding must be stopped," she chided.

"Aye, but did you have to do it so tightly?" he gritted out.

Enna sighed again and drew the tips of her finger over his brow, quite oblivious to everything else except the fact that he was well and alive still. "Did you hear, then?" she asked at last. "We won. They think Sabsestrin is dead, and both armies surrendered to us…"

"I heard," Aramir replied, his taught face relaxing into a smile.

"I am so glad," she whispered.

It looked as though he was about to say something in reply, but before he did, he threw Enna roughly aside, and she struck the back of her head against the boulder. A cry of indignation escaped her throat, but before she could fully comprehend what had happened, a broadsword came slamming down on the shield that Aramir had barely thrown up in time.

"Dead, eh?" growled the attacker as he rained blows on Aramir's dented shield. "Dead! Bah!"

Aramir scrambled for Arondight, and the same moment he grasped the hilt of the sword, Enna recognized the man—it was none other than Sabsestrin, her thin-bearded uncle. "You!" she bellowed, rubbing the sore lump on the back of her head as she got to her feet. _"You_! You traitor and trickster and murderer!"

He seemed not to hear her, for he attacked Aramir, who had gotten up and was struggling to wield his sword and shield, with unflagging ferocity.

Enna's mind raced with dozens of possible options, but the only one her body seemed to obey was possibly the stupidest one: incensed beyond rationality at the cowardliness of her uncle that he would assault a gravely injured boy, she let out a snarl and drove her shoulder into his. The force of the impact knocked them both sprawling, and Sabsestrin's flailing weapon caught the palm of Enna's hand as they fell.

The pain radiated up Enna's arm, and for a moment, she was blind and deaf to anything else but the throbbing agony tearing up and down her hand. After the first wave of torment, however, the wall of darkness receded from Enna's vision, and the agony was reduced to a dull throb. As soon as her head was clear, she leapt to her feet and swung around with her fists raised, ready to repel her uncle's advances with everything she had.

All she found, though, was Aramir's arms as he limped towards her and began pulling her back. "What's going on?" she hissed, struggling in his grip.

"Look how close you are to the edge, Enna," he said firmly in her ear.

Enna looked, and saw fresh blood glimmering in the snowy grass less than a foot away from the sheer edge of the cliff. That blood must have come from her palm, which was dripping steadily…she must have fallen there after knocking Sabsestrin over…well, if that was the case, where was _he_?

"He fell," Aramir said, as if he'd read her mind.

"He what?" Enna breathed.

"When you knocked him down, he lost his balance and…fell. Off the cliff."

The knowledge that she, and she alone, had killed Sabsestrin Stalresin by the mere force of her determination should have thrilled Enna. But as she stood with Aramir, smelling the salt air and hearing the silence of the falling snow, she felt only guilt and fear.

"Come now, Enna," Aramir whispered, tugging her away from the place. "We will blot him from our memories. There is no reason for him to haunt you any longer."

Wordlessly, she nodded, slipped her arm around his waist, and together they started back towards the castle.

--

_A/N2: Phew!_


	44. Chapter Forty Four

_A/N: Well, we didn't win anything in NFFR's Revolution Awards. But thank you so much to everyone who nominated and voted for us! :)_

_In other news, MERRY CHRISTMAS! :DD I hope everyone has lots of fun, lots of laughs, and remembers the real reason for the season._

--

"How is he, Glenstorm?" Enna asked for the umpteenth time.

The centaur gave a long-suffering sigh as he closed the door behind him and flicked his tail a bit more sharply than was necessary. "Just as well as he was five minutes ago, milady. Now, I beg you, sit and rest. You'll aggravate your wound if you keep wringing your hands in that manner."

"When can I see him?"

"Once the other healers are done with him and I have had a chance to bandage your palm."

"Why can't you bandage it now?"

"Because the poultice must be washed off beforehand. Now stop—I beg you, my lady—and _sit_."

Enna threw herself onto a cot with a pout, massaging her aching hand and resting her sore head against the cool stone walls of the corridor. Already it had been nearly an hour since she and Aramir had returned to the castle, and she hadn't seen him since they whisked him away to tend to his wound. Glenstorm, along with quite a few other Narnians and Archenlanders, were seeing to the many wounded from the earlier battle, and every so often someone would whisk by Enna on their way to or from a patient.

After another twenty minutes or so, a dryad finally came to Enna's cot with a bowl of warm water in one hand and a roll of bandages in the other. "I apologize for the delay, milady," she said. "We must treat the very severe injuries before the less-pressing. You must understand."

"Patience is a virtue," Enna answered neutrally.

The dryad drew a dripping rag from the bowl and began to clean the dried blood from Enna's palm. It stung bitterly, and the action drew fresh blood to the surface of the wound. Nevertheless, it was all cleaned up and bandaged in less than five minutes, and Enna was allowed to stand and flex her fingers.

"How does it feel, milady?" the dryad asked.

"A bit stiff and hot, but otherwise better."

"Good. If the bandages soak through, be sure to replace them."

"Thank you."

The dryad nodded and curtsied herself away from Enna. Just then, Glenstorm passed, and it was only with a supreme effort that she managed to keep her mouth shut about Aramir. He took one look at her, though, and said with a sigh, "You may see him, milady."

"Really?"

"Indeed. But be gentle with him—he is in a good deal of pain."

Enna nodded breathlessly, and as soon as he had nodded and passed by, she made a dash for Aramir's door and rapped lightly on it before pushing it open.

Aramir was resting on his bed, still a bit pale and with his wounded leg swathed in bandages and placed on a few firm pillows, but he had a healthy flush and he smiled when he saw her. "How is your hand?" he asked.

She smiled, closing the door behind her. "Much better. How are _you_?"

Shifting on the bed and beckoning her closer, he said, "They put some sort of poultice on my leg, and it's quite numb. So quite well, now."

"I'm glad." Enna picked up the stool from the fireside and sat down on it, pulling it as close to the bed as she could manage. "What did they do?"

"Cleaned it up, stitched it up, bandaged it up," he answered with a grin. "What'd they do to you?"

"Washed it, put some ointment on it, and then bandaged it," Enna replied, showing him her hand.

He touched the bandage with the backs of his fingers. "You really didn't need to do that, you know. You could've gotten hurt worse. Or rolled right off that cliff yourself."

Enna sighed and dropped her head, splaying the fingers of her uninjured hand on top of the white coverlet. "What do you think would have happened if I had just stood by? You…You're a strong swordsman, but even you have to admit you were tired and weak. I wasn't about to let Sabsestrin batter you into the ground."

"That's the second time you've saved my life, then," he said quietly, leaning back and resting his head on the pillows.

Enna laughed briefly. "Well, if you're going to take it that way, let me make mention of how many times you've saved _mine._"

"Bah."

"Don't 'bah' saving lives."

Aramir chuckled and took her hand in his, careful not to press on her bandage. "You've 'bah'ed at much worse."

"I wouldn't dream of 'bah'ing at saving a life, though."

"Would you 'bah' at a goat?"

Enna had to laugh at this. "No…I'd be too much afraid I was telling it something rude or insulting." She leaned forward and brushed her fingertips over Aramir's forehead, pushing stray locks of his hair out of the way.

He blinked rather drowsily up at her, but still managed to grin roguishly. "We'd have to hire a translator."

"If I learned to speak goat, I could be one."

"Then we wouldn't need the translator in the first place."

Before Enna could think of a clever response, the door opened and a faun stuck her head in. Enna started and, freeing her hand from his grasp, drew back from Aramir, blushing and feeling rather that they'd been caught in the middle of some intimate act. "What is it?" she asked, tucking a stray bit of hair behind her ear.

"If you please, milady," said the faun, stepping farther into the room, "the Lord Bodmor has been recovered from the battlefield."

"Oh?" said Enna, the pit of her stomach dropping. "And how is he?"

The faun bowed her head. "Not well, milady. I was sent to inform you that unless he survives the night, it is not likely that he will live through his wounds."

Enna received the news unblinkingly. It was only to be expected—after all, Bodmor and Erec were the only members of her family left alive. Why wouldn't he die? It seemed to be only her luck. "I see. Thank you."

Nodding, the faun let herself out of the room and shut the door.

"You should go to him," Aramir said softly.

Enna shook her head vehemently. "I want to stay here, with you. I…I…" She laughed bitterly and said with another shake of her hair, "I don't know Bodmor very well. But I know you. I'd rather stay with you."

He reached up and touched her chin very briefly. "You're the sweetest lass I know, Enna. But I'm very tired…why don't you go to him for just a little bit? I think I'd like to rest."

"That's a good compromise," she whispered.

"Ace. I'll see you soon, lass. Get some sleep yourself."

Enna nodded, then impulsively reached down and placed a shy kiss on his brow, his flesh warm and smooth beneath her lips. "I'll see you soon," she blurted, then practically leapt from her stool and fled from the room. The few healers who were still in the corridors looked curiously at her flushed face, but once she closed the door behind her, they looked away and she was able to pass through unhindered.

When she finally made it to Bodmor's room (she had to stop and ask directions several times), she found the door partway open and the large chamber inside lit with many candles. The fire blazing in the fireplace made the room stiflingly hot, but the man under the blankets on the bed was shivering uncontrollably.

"How does he fare?" she whispered to an Archenlander nearby.

"Very poorly, milady," he answered solemnly.

Enna nodded and approached the bedside cautiously, staring down at the ashen face of her blood father.

He looked asleep, but when she touched the papery skin of his hand, his eyes flickered open and his tongue worked noiselessly before he forced out, "Tell those blasted—healers—to leave us."

The healers did not need being told twice. Within a moment, they were all gone with the door shut behind them, and Enna tentatively drew a chair to his bedside. "Do you need me to do anything for you, Father?" she asked.

He turned his head slowly to look at her. "Did you call…him…Father, Enna?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Vatorian Stalresin. Did you—" He took a breath in a way that looked as though it pained him deeply. "Did you call him Father?"

Enna sat in silence for a minute before answering quietly, "No. I called him…Pappata. Ancient Galmanian for 'Daddy', you know," she added with a wry laugh.

"Was he a good father to you, then?" Bodmor asked.

"Aye," Enna whispered.

Bodmor turned his head back and closed his eyes. "Good. That's all I wanted to know."

Within moments, he had truly slipped into sleep. Enna thought about Aramir and considered returning to his bedside, but she couldn't bring herself to leave her father's yet. Once she was sure he was deeply asleep, she tugged down his blankets and saw for herself the extent of his injuries: thick bandages were swathed around his torso from chest to hips, but dark blood was already leaking through and pooling on the surface. She was no healer or warrior, but she knew that those wounds were not likely to heal.

It was nearing late evening when Enna finally stirred from her reverie. It was Bodmor's movements that brought her to: he was breathing heavily and clutching at his blankets with claw-like hands. Her heart in her throat, Enna forced herself to place her hand on the older man's arm. At her touch, though, his eyes flew open, and he said in a loud, hoarse voice, "Ilsta!"

There was no mistaking her mother's name. "What is it, Father?" Enna asked, sitting up straight and taking his hand. "What's wrong?"

But he made no answer. It took Enna a few long minutes to realize that he never would; he was dead, his face frozen forever in that eerie grimace.

She did not try to close his eyes. Rather, she detached her hand from his stiff one, stood, and left the death-choked room and told a healer, who curtsied and rushed to the master's bed.

Instead of waiting to hear the wails of grief or witness the strange busyness that always accompanies a death, Enna went quickly away from the chambers, her boots whispering on the stones as she descended a staircase and pointed her feet towards Aramir's door. She didn't know what drove her there, especially now that she was really and truly an orphan, through and through, and therefore had much to think about and do.

She did not knock on his door, assuming he'd be asleep, but as soon as she set one foot in the darkened room, he stirred. "Enna? Is that you?"

"Aye." She closed the door behind her and poked up the fire before turning to him.

He pushed himself up and braced his back against the pillows. There was a brief silence, and then he said in a very quiet voice, "He died, didn't he."

Enna nodded and went towards the bed. "Quite grotesquely, actually…"

The next thing she knew, she was crumpled on the cobblestone floor, sobbing her heart out against the mattress. It didn't make any sense that she would weep so—she wasn't very sad that Bodmor had died; she hardly knew the man, after all—but all she could think about was the sweet, fat face of her now orphaned nephew, with no memory of any of his doting parents or relatives.

"There, there, lass," came the comforting voice of Aramir in her ear. He lifted her nearly bodily from the floor to huddle against him, shivering almost uncontrollably as he pulled a blanket from the foot of the bed to wrap around her shoulders.

"I'm—sorry," she hiccupped, trying desperately to get a hold of her raging emotions.

"Don't be," he said gently as he tucked the edge of the blanket against her cheek. "You face no judgment here."

So Enna turned her face into his shoulder, his warm and familiar shoulder, and let the tears come.

--

The next morning, the castle servants were particularly secretive, and it came out before breakfast the reason why: a noblewoman of high birth had eloped early the night before with a merchant's manservant, and the girl had written to say that she had wed her man and that her father must approve of the match or lose his only daughter forever. The father, distraught with worry over his daughter's safety, quickly agreed to recognize the union, and a letter stating such was en route. (Enna could not help but smile at her lady-in-waiting's actions—what a little sprite Tamlyn was turning out to be!)

Immediately after she dressed and ate, Enna went up to Erec's nursery, took him from the red-eyed maid, and brought him down to the rest of the castle. At first, she was nervous of how this would be looked upon (and even if Erec would handle it well), but she was met with only smiles, and even King Lune insisted on tickling the baby's fat legs and letting him tweak his beard. Erec in particular seemed to love the colors and smells and noises, and scarcely held still long enough for Enna to shift him from one hip to the other. Windows he especially liked, and could spend many minutes with his nose pressed against the panes and tiny mouth steaming up the glass.

Eventually, Enna managed to bring him to Aramir's chambers, and let the babe sit on Aramir's good leg while she opened the curtains and tidied up the mess left by the healers the night before.

"You look a sight better, lass," Aramir said when at last she sat down beside him. "I think sleep did you good."

Enna placed her hand atop his very briefly. "I think it was your kindness that did me good. I have not wept so long in years."

Erec pawed at Aramir's nose as he said with a laugh, "Think nothing of it. I could hardly have made you cry alone, could I?"

"Nevertheless," she said softly, "I am grateful."

Aramir bounced Erec in his arms, and the baby shrieked with laughter. "Then I accept your thanks, and give you plenty of my own. What if you had not come looking for me last night? I might have bled out, and your—Sabsestrin would have survived to attack us another day." He took her hand. _"I_ am grateful."

Enna smiled at him and touched Erec's cheek with one finger. "Do you realize," she said slowly, almost as much to the child as to Aramir, "that now, with my father dead, you are to receive the crown of Roscommon? There are no other male relatives, besides Erec."

The baby grinned at the sound of his name.

"I have thought of that," Aramir replied quietly. "I suppose I must accept."

"What will become of Erec?" Enna whispered.

Aramir lifted the baby and braced him against his shoulder, where the boy began to gum his tunic. "Your brother asked me to watch over him."

"Will you?"

"Absolutely." Aramir paused, patting Erec's little back rhythmically. "But you, as his blood aunt, ought to have a say in what happens. What say you to…well, what if I said I would treat the lad as my own?"

Enna watched Aramir's motions, a sickly longing feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Do you mean, adopt him?"

Aramir nodded.

"You have my blessing, then, and my gratitude," Enna said, trying to disguise the depth of her appreciation. "I can think of no one better suited to raising my flesh and blood than you."

Aramir nodded again, meeting her gaze. "Then that is what I shall do wholeheartedly."

Enna placed her hand on Erec's back, the side of her palm resting atop Aramir's fingers. "I shall miss you both."

"You are returning to Narnia, then?"

"Aye."

"When will we see you again?"

Enna paused. She knew that she could not just take her leave of Aramir and Erec for the rest of her life; but returning to Roscommon, even years from now, would sap her emotional strength far too much for her to leave it again. Or what if Aramir took a wife? She would be forced to sit in quiet, condemned silence while they shared marital bliss. "I don't know," she said at last.

Silence reigned for a good while before there came a rap at the door.

"Come in," called Aramir.

A serving maid stuck her head in. "Begging your pardon, milord, but that meeting will begin shortly."

"Have the councilors gathered yet?"

"Not yet, milord."

"Aye. Thank you."

The girl curtsied and shut the door behind her.

"What meeting, Aramir?" Enna asked as he gave Erec back to her and swung his legs over the side of the bed, fully clothed and booted. "Are you going somewhere?"

"Their Excellencies the council wish to meet with me concerning my position as guardian of your brother's estate," he explained, standing slowly and grabbing at the bedpost to steady himself. "I heard them call it an 'interview'."

Enna leapt to her feet, Erec squealing, and fetched for Aramir a knobby walking stick she had seen resting against the wardrobe. "What can they be thinking?" she cried. "Asking a wounded man to leave his bed? They are rogues, all. You can bet that they intend to test your competency and find you inadequate unless you surpass them in all knowledge."

"That is what I fear, aye," Aramir sighed, hobbling a step or two with the walking stick.

"Well, you cannot go alone, that much is clear," Enna said firmly.

"No one else is allowed—"

"Then I shall sit under the desk," she interrupted. "I don't care what those pigs-in-robes decree; I am Endrit's blood sister as much as your dear friend, and I think I have a vested interest in the proceedings of this meeting."

Aramir shook his head good-naturedly. "I thought there might be no dissuading you."

"Which is why you brought it up in the first place. You _want_ me to be there, and I shall gladly oblige. Now, where will this meeting be? I shall put Darling in his nursery and meet you there; if I have beaten the council, we shall find a suitable hiding place for me then."

"It is in Endrit's study," Aramir answered with a laugh. "Now, give 'Darling' to me for a kiss—that's a good lad, there, aren't you?—and begone, and it shall be as you say."

Enna took Erec back, blushing slightly that her private pet name for the baby—he was darling! What better pet name for him than that?—had been leaked in public, but tossed her plait at Aramir once before kissing Erec's cheek for herself and sweeping from the room.

As soon as Erec was settled into his crib for a nap, Enna touched his soft cheek one last time and then hurried down from the tower. It took her several tries to find Endrit's study, but at last she came upon the broad oak door and rapped twice.

"The door's open, Enna," came Aramir's voice.

She slipped in, shutting it quietly behind her. "How'd you know it was me?"

Aramir, sitting at the sturdy, glossy wooden desk with his back to a wall of books, grinned and dropped his head. "I just knew, Enna. I guessed by the way you knocked."

Flattered that he knew her to that extent, Enna began looking around the room. There were plenty of seats, a fireplace—only one window—hundreds of books on dozens of shelves, and a high, vaulted ceiling. "Cozy," she commented, going over to the desk.

"Indeed."

There were papers spread all over the surface. Flipping through them, she found a few lines of a letter to an army acquaintance in southern Archenland, a list of all the livestock born in the village that year, and several stacks of finance records. "I do not envy you, Aramir," she said, her eyes aching just looking at the marching numbers.

"I shall hire a secretary straightaway after this meeting," he answered only half-teasingly.

Enna laughed. "Excellent decision, my lord."

Aramir nodded, and as he straightened his sore leg, Enna walked around the desk and opened the drawers. Inside were more papers, sealing wax and a signet ring, quill pens, inkbottles, and a little box tucked in the back. "Have you looked in here?" she asked, pulling out the box and lifting the lid.

"Aye. I think it…it was a keepsake box."

Indeed it was. There were a few old letters written in an elegant hand, a lock of flaxen hair, and a ring—a beautiful ring, made up of a thin band of gold inset with a single blue stone. "It's lovely," Enna sighed, putting the box down and picking up the ring instead.

Aramir took some of the letters out and flipped through them as Enna tried the ring on. It was a bit tight, but it looked so fine on her callused and weatherworn skin that she had to take it off.

"I think it was your mother's," he told her softly.

She looked at the note, aged and torn, that he held out to her:

_"B.,_

_By the time you read this, I will be halfway to Galma with V. I know you refused to give me a divorce, but law has it that if a woman escapes her husband and marries another on foreign soil, her first marriage is void. _

_My ring is enclosed in this envelope. Thank you for the lovely times. _

_I._

_PS: Look after Endrit. I have taken Enna."_

Enna could not help but laugh. "'Lovely times'. My mother was quite the heartbreaker."

"You must have the ring, of course," Aramir said. "It is yours by right."

As tempting as the offer was, she knew that she could not have that steady reminder of Archenland on her finger for the rest of her life in Narnia. "No," she said quietly. "You should keep it."

She put it back in the box along with all the letters and closed the lid, and that was the end of it.

As soon as Aramir had closed the drawer, there came a brisk knock at the door. Wordlessly, as though they had orchestrated it all beforehand, Enna dove under the desk, pressing her back to the wood panel separating her from the door, Aramir pulled his chair forward, and then called out for the men to enter.

Into the room came a group of several men, perhaps four or five, judging by the amount of noise they made. Enna held her breath as greetings and introductions were made and hands were clasped overhead. Aramir's legs were so close to her that she could lean against them comfortably, but she decided quickly that to do so would jeopardize more than just the meeting.

"Please, gentlemen, sit," said Aramir broadly. "Let us get to business."

The complaint of chair against stone marked their obedience. "Indeed," said the first man, a thin voice that seemed to resonate through tight lips. "There is much to be discussed this morning, and it is in the best interest of all involved to have this…issue…resolved quickly."

Then came the second voice, one more baritone and stern than the previous. "You _do_ realize what is at stake here, of course?"

Enna closed her eyes—the first test. Who knew it would come so quickly?

"Of course," Aramir answered smoothly. "The villagers must have a leader reinstated before difficulties emerge, and the household itself is in need of solid guidance, especially with so much concentrated foreign power under its roof."

"Quite right," said the third voice (a rough one, as though the speaker were slightly ill). Enna breathed a breath of relief—they approved.

"Moving on, then," said the second voice. "For our records…what are your full name, parentage, and places of birth and residence?"

"Sir Aramir Ealion, knight of the Noble Order of the Table of Narnia, son of Aranash Minodaurus, Tarkhaan of Ishfahan, and Falina Hammons. Born in Ilvernarran, Archenland, the home of my mother, transported to Ishfahan, Calormen, shortly thereafter, and resident of the _Seacharger_ after the deaths of my parents."

"What port did the _Seacharger_ call home?"

"Galma."

"Under what command?"

"Captain Argo Minodaurus."

There was a pause. "Your brother?" asked a fourth voice.

"Aye," said Aramir stiffly.

"Alive or dead?"

He paused. Enna bit the inside of her cheek. "Ali—" he began, but Enna thumped his good shin so hard he sucked in a breath, hid the fact with a nervous chuckle, and said, "Dead."

The scribbling of pens continued. "What duties did you have aboard the _Seacharger_?" asked the first voice.

"I was cabin boy, then acting bo's'n and lieutenant navigator."

"For how long?"

"Cabin boy for eight summers, then bo's'n and navigator for...around six."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-one summers."

"What is your citizenship?"

Aramir paused again here, and Enna knew the sudden predicament. He was not Archenlandian! "Narnian," he answered.

There was some muttering. "Are you willing to legally change that status to Archenlander, Sir Aramir?" asked the fifth voice.

"If it would better serve my lords, gladly."

_Excellent answer_, Enna thought.

Apparently, the councilors thought so too, for the third voice said, "Why do you think yourself capable of taking up this position, then?"

Enna wished she could answer for him; she would list all his exploits and victories, his decent manner, his compassion, his familiarity with servitude, his brains…

"I do not think myself capable," Aramir answered quietly.

Enna froze.

"Really," said the gentlemen, sounding quite astonished.

"Indeed," he answered. "I am the same age as my lord Endrit was, but I have half the experience. All I have known my entire life has been hardship and poor masters. I can scarcely read, I am no diplomat, and my only skills rest in my hands. I can carve, whittle, climb ratlines, reef a sail, repair canvas, wield a sword, and ride tolerably well, but I can't do figures, speak foreign languages, direct battle lines, negotiate agreements, or write laws."

He had just ruined any chance of success, Enna realized, resting her forehead against the wood of the desk. No men in their right mind would willingly give him the title of lord and master! Her heart sank—now someone else would be given stewardship of her Darling.

"I see," said the second voice over wild scribbling. "Well, consider this: what do you intend to do, should our master's will and testament be obeyed and you take his place? How will you raise his heir?"

This was the first question that Enna herself did not also know (or think she knew) the answer to. She waited with baited breath, wondering how Aramir would respond.

"My good sirs, I intend to do all that your lord wished me to: raise his son in an upright way and preserve his heritage and inheritance. If you gentlemen approve, I should like to adopt the child as my own, so he does not consider himself an orphan and behave such. When he comes of age, he shall become a page, and then a squire and a knight. Upon his eighteenth birthday, or when he considers himself prepared thereafter, his title and lands shall pass on to him."

There was silent scribbling for a moment. "Who would you page him to?" the first voice asked.

"I would prefer the kingdom of Narnia, for I know the boy will be taught morally and firmly there. If not, to a family in Anvard, so that he may be close at hand to the court of King Lune and learn from their wisdom."

He had obviously thought this out with a great deal of consideration, Enna realized. Even she had not decided where she would like Darling to be paged when he was old enough.

"Is it your intention to take a wife, then, to act as mother to the child?" asked the fourth voice.

Enna nearly gave away her presence by the violence of her reaction. A _wife!_ Aramir could not find a wife—that was _her_ rightful position, and since she couldn't have it, no one else was supposed to!

"Aye," answered Aramir after a pause.

There was more scribbling. "You realize, of course," said the fifth voice, "that this council must approve your selection before the union takes place?"

"I did not, but I thank you for your dedication to the well-being of Roscommon."

_Another excellent answer,_ Enna thought proudly. He was performing above and beyond her expectations, and it made her heart thump a little wildly.

"Very good," said the second voice. "Now, unless any of my esteemed colleagues have any more questions…"

"Nay," murmured the other four.

"Fine, then." There was a rustling of paper. "If you please, Sir Aramir, sign here and here…"

Aramir's legs shifted, and she heard him scratch his name above her head.

"Very good. And here, and here, on this paper, please."

He did so again.

The chairs made loud sounds as they were pushed back, and Aramir grasped the walking stick with one hand and stood up. "Thank you, gentlemen."

"No, no, thank _you_, milord," said the fifth voice. "It will be an honor for us to serve as your council. If you had said you thought yourself capable, it would have proven you are not. But I think my colleagues and I all agree that you are more than competent to take up the title of lord and master Roscommon."

_They have approved him!_ Enna would have leapt in the air and cried out for joy, had she not been crouched under the desk.

"And it will be an honor to serve with you," Aramir answered, a hint of a smile in his voice (oh, how Enna wished to see it!). "I thank you deeply, and merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you, as well," the men replied, and, one by one, filed out of the study after clasping his hand.

As soon as the door was shut behind the last one, Enna leapt out from under the desk and flew into Aramir's waiting arms, laughing with the relief and joy that crowded her heart. "You've done it! You've done it!"

"How was I?" he asked breathlessly, grinning from ear to ear.

"Marvelous. Brilliant. First-rate. Oh, you make me so _proud!_"

"I couldn't have done it without you boxing me in the shin," he replied.

"I'm sorry. Really. But it got my point across…"

"Now both legs ache."

Enna grinned, content just to stand here in his arms. "I knew you would be superb."

"Think of it!" he said. "Lord Roscommon!"

Just then, the doorknob turned, and Enna threw herself to the floor just in time to hear it open and the fifth voice say, "Congratulations, milord. I had great faith in you, but my colleagues did not understand…now they do. We do not speak empty words."

"Thank you, Sir Linos. I am deeply indebted to you."

The door closed again, and Enna stood up the last time, took one look at Aramir's red face, and began to laugh.


	45. Chapter Forty Five

_A/N: Phew! I hope everyone had as fantastic a Christmas and New Years as I did! Surely not looking forward to school starting again, but it was fun. :) _

_In other news, we have a new Wufoo poll concerning the TITLE for the next Schmo and Sushi fic on the top of our profile page. (The link for the older poll is right below.) If you haven't already, please go and vote on both of them! Also, if you're on Facebook, I encourage you to become a fan of Schmo and Sushi—get updates on chapter progress, announcements, help us with questions, and more! (The link's on our profile.)_

_Enjoy the chapter! :D_

_--_

The next four days went by in a haze of happiness so profound that Enna often could not sleep just for the joy that bubbled in her stomach. It was Christmastime, and while the rest of the castle was busy decorating for the great Christmas feast, she had full leave to play with Erec, explore her ancestral home, and—best of all—spend uninterrupted time with Aramir.

Of course, her contentment was sometimes marred by the understanding that the only reason she had this leisure was because the _Splendor Hyaline_ was still making its way down the Narnian coast. The Christmas feast was to be held on the fourth night, and the fifth morning, the _Splendor Hyaline_ would depart for Cair Paravel, and she must be on board.

At first, the thought was difficult to think on, but as time wore on and the _Splendor_ docked at Roscommon's wharf on the third night, it became unbearable. Lucy listened to Enna's dread with a sympathetic ear, but always tried to soothe her by saying, "But Cair Paravel is so much _nicer_ than Roscommon. Narnia is _home_!" to which Enna wanted to take her by the shoulders and throttle her, screaming no! Narnia was not her home—_Aramir_ was.

But Aramir's comfort was not much better: he at first suggested that she stay at Roscommon, then asked her flat-out. As much as Enna wished to obey and stay by his side, she knew that there would be no honor, no decency, in living unmarried with him. And she was not even sure she could handle doing so—to live with Aramir till the day she died, but to never be loved by him? The idea was simply intolerable.

So the afternoon of the fourth day came, rising with the thin winter sun, and Enna and Aramir sat together in the parlor. Erec had long ago been put down for a nap, and the castle itself was getting ready for the feast, but Enna had closed the door, and they sat in peace. For her part, she was seated by the window, a shirt folded over her knees (both Peter and Edmund had expressed admiration of her needlework, so she had determined to decorate a tunic for both of them, and was within a few minutes of completing the last one), but was looking alternately out at the bobbing _Splendor Hyaline_ and at Aramir's dark head. He was bent nearby over a record of Roscommons, and was striving to learn what they had done and with what, so that he might have a better idea of how to deal with the villagers.

Before she could turn back to her embroidery, though, he looked up and caught her staring. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I just…it's hard to imagine that this might be the last time I have a private word with you."

He shut the book and leaned forward, catching her wrist before she could pull it away. "Then _stay_, Enna. Don't go back to Narnia."

"You know I can't, Aramir," she said gently. "I've promised them. And besides, you know it isn't right—at least in Narnia I will have a function. Here, I will just…be Enna."

Aramir opened his mouth to retort, but she pulled her hand out of his grasp and said, "Please, don't. You're making it very difficult for me."

He was indeed. Even just his earnest eyes made her knees go weak, and she wanted nothing but to wipe the distress from his face. _But one has to keep one's head, Enna,_ she warned herself as she finished the embroidery.

Not a moment too soon, the parlor door creaked open and an older maid stepped in a few inches. "Pardon me, my Lord Roscommon," she said to Aramir with a deferential curtsy. "I have come for Dame Enna—her bath is ready."

He looked as disconcerted as Enna felt at the unfamiliar references, but he gathered his wits quickly enough to nod. "Very well. We'll meet tonight, Enna."

Wordlessly, Enna gathered up her embroidery things and curtsied to him (_must display proper subordination in front of his subjects, of course_) before following the maid out of the room.

"Milady has received a package," said the woman. "The Narnian ship brought it from Cair Paravel."

"I see," said Enna. _Whatever could it be?_

Inside her chambers, as the maid was adding sweet soaps to the hot water of Enna's waiting bath, she opened the heavy, paper-wrapped package. It was a moment before she could pull all of the wrappings away, but as soon as she saw the contents, she got a strange, light-headed feeling of recognition—inside was the fine blue and gold gown that Queen Susan had given her almost an entire year ago. Enna touched the soft fabric with her callused fingers, recalling all that had happened the last time she had worn it—dances, mistaken identity, snow, Aslan, and fiery docks.

A bit overcome by the memories, Enna sat down on her trunk and unfolded the enclosed parchment. It was a letter to her, written in a gently flowing hand:

_"Dearest Enna,_

_"It has been far too long since I have seen you! Cair Paravel has certainly been most dull without you or Lucy or my brothers. I shall be glad to see you all again. I am sure Edmund and Lucy have grown immensely in the year that I have gone without their company!_

_"On that note, Peter wrote me today (probably almost a week ago now, by the time you get this note) and reported that the Galmanians and Terebinthians have finally surrendered. You should have seen our celebrations in Narnia: fireworks all night long! He also told me of the developments between him and yourself. I must say, I am disappointed to lose a sister-in-law, but not surprised—Peter has always been far too devoted to Narnia to love anyone properly. I wondered at his decision to marry (though you must know that I approved heartily of his choice in bride!). I look forward to meeting you again as Dame Enna of Narnia in but a week or so. _

_"Meanwhile, I have sent your dress to you. You have worn it before, aye, but you did look so lovely in it that I think it quite suitable for an Archenlandian Christmas feast. (I trust it arrived in time!) It is my hope that you charm a handsome Archenlandian lord in it and bring him back to Cair Paravel with you!_

_"I wish you the best of luck, dear friend, and I trust that Aslan will guide you all safely back home._

_"Yours truly,_

_"Susan."_

Enna folded the letter up again, the pressure on either sides of the spectrum almost overwhelming her. How desperately she wished to stay in Archenland, and yet how firmly she was being urged to leave it!

"Milady's bath is ready," said the maid.

Sighing, Enna stood up and let the woman undo her stays. "I don't suppose you've ever been married to one man and secretly loved another?" she said as her gown loosened and fell around her ankles.

"Nay, milady. Can't say I have."

"It quite complicates matters, I've found."

"Begging your pardon, milady, but that is why we Archenlanders teach our younglings to marry carefully."

Enna stepped into the steaming bath, the hot water lapping at her shoulders as she sank down in the tub. "And wise that is," she said.

The maid began to wash her hair, and all was silent in the room until, nearly an hour later, Enna was sitting before the fire as the woman combed the tangles from her curls. It was nearly dark already, and it had started to snow very gently.

"Begging your pardon, milady."

"What is it?"

"Is milady married?"

"No," Enna answered. "Though I once was. And you needn't shake your head like that—I can feel it when you do—because there was no disgrace in the matter. My husband and I were separated before the union could be consummated, and then we later decided it was in everyone's best interests to annul it."

"I understand, milady."

And neither of them said another word to each other for the rest of the night. The maid did up Enna's hair in the strange Archenlandian fashion of piling braids at the back of her head, and then helped her into the beautiful scarlet underdress that Susan had sent from Narnia. It did not fit as loosely as it had in Cair Paravel (Enna had grown sturdier in the year she had been gone), but it was still lovely. Instead of the blue gown, however, Enna took up one of the gowns she had donned in Anvard—at the time, she had been surprised to find that it was easier to fit in their dresses than Narnian ones, even if they had not been sewn for her, but now, knowing her pure Archenlandian blood, it was understandable. At any rate, the maid seemed to approve of her decision, and helped her with the moss-green frock.

It looked better than she had anticipated, Enna decided, turning in front of the small streaky mirror. The Archenlandian fashion was for gowns to be loose and flowing, with cinched waists and unbound sleeves, and the airiness of this dress coupled with the flashes of scarlet from the Narnian frock made for a unique but beautiful composition.

Satisfied with her appearance, Enna nodded to her maid and left her chamber, following the distant sounds of merrymaking. She was a bit late to the feast, it was true, but the liveried servant standing with a bronze staff in front of the tall double doors stiffened at her approach.

"Good evening, Kofri," she said. "Are you well?"

"Very, milady," said the older man, bowing deeply. "Will you go in?"

"I think so."

Kofri bowed again, then turned and pushed open the double doors, and his staff rang out in the great hall. "Presenting Dame Enna Aldenthew!"

The noise level had dropped momentarily, but it swung back up again as she thanked Kofri and went into the hall. The layout was slightly different than it was in Cair Paravel—she entered at the side of the hall, rather than the back, and the footman led her past the common tables filled with Narnian and Archenlandian revelers towards the dais at the front of the hall, where the long white head table boasted Aramir at the center, surrounded by Peter, Edmund, Lucy, King Lune, the council, several Archenlandian and Narnian generals, and even a few neighboring lords and knights who had come to toast the newest Roscommon.

As she approached, every occupant pushed their chair back and stood. At first, Enna was a bit uneasy, but then she remembered that she ranked among them all, and the thought gave her courage to curtsy and nod to the guests she passed as she followed the footman.

"Well met, Dame Enna," said Lucy with a roguish wink.

Enna answered with a wink of her own, and had to mask a smile as she accepted the respectful nods of the strangers.

At last, the footman stopped and drew out a chair for her, and the curious looks she was getting turned into surprised ones—he had brought her to Aramir's right hand, a position reserved only for the lord's most trusted advisor. Enna realized this, and hesitated, but Aramir bent and, with an expressive but unreadable look, took her hand and placed a soft kiss on the back of it. "Greetings, Dame Enna," he said. "Your presence honors us."

"Well met, Your Excellency," she answered softly.

With that, everyone took their seats again, and servants rushed forward and refilled goblets—only then did Enna begin to notice the entirety of her situation. Aramir was clad in white and blue, as only befitting Lord Roscommon, and had a fine gold circlet upon his brow; King Lune was eating and laughing heartily on her left; the west wall of the hall was taken up by a grand fir tree, decorated not in the Narnian fashion of ribbons and whimsical ornaments but covered in blazing candles and glimmering baubles; it was not mead in her goblet but rather sweet eggnog; the people who filled the rest of the hall were eating and drinking very merrily; and oh, but did the food smell delicious.

She was halfway through her second helping of goose when Aramir caught her attention and bent his head to hers.

"How do you feel?" he asked in a low voice.

"Very well. Why?"

"You may have to do a deal of dancing tonight."

"I have not danced in near a year."

"I know."

"And why?"

"The council informs me that, if you wish to make a favorable impression on Their Excellencies, you must interact with them."

Enna frowned. "Well, that isn't so bad as you make it to sound. These gentlemen look friendly enough, and I would rather run into a wall than make Roscommon look uncouth."

"Are you sure? I told the council that I wouldn't force you into a thing. And I'm not positive, but I think running oneself into a wall is rather uncivilized."

"You _are_ the impudent one, but I shall overlook it. Instead of running into a wall, then, I think I shall dance with those egg-headed councilors and slip some flattering words about you into our conversation."

Aramir's eyes crinkled. "Thank you, lass."

Enna let the tender words wash over her, and said, "Think nothing of it."

Soon, the food was taken off the tables, and then the tables themselves were whisked away to the sides of the hall, where they were covered with sweetmeats, eggnog, cookies, and other dainty treats. A troupe of musicians (who seemed partly Archenlander and partly Narnian, from what Enna could see) began tuning their instruments, filling the great chamber with sweetly discordant strains of music.

King Lune let out an appreciative belch. "Excellent fare, my foreign guests-turned-friends," he said, patting his paunch. "I daresay even Anvard couldn't do better."

Enna blushed for Aramir, who was engaged in conversation with Peter and Edmund on the other side. "We thank you, Your Majesty. Your presence honors Roscommon the likes of which she has ever experienced before."

Lune chuckled. "Oh, the only thing that could sweeten my situation is a nice turn about the floor. Tell me, my dear, do you dance?"

"Not well, Your Highness," Enna said, masking a laugh, "but if you will bear with me, I shall." What a perfect start to the night! Lune was a broad man with touches of grey in his flaming hair—dancing with him would ease her into the more energetic motions of the younger men.

"I shall bear, I shall bear," Lune replied broadly. "Young Roscommon, lad!"

"Aye, sire?" said Aramir mildly, breaking away from his other conversation.

"Do you mind if I open the first tune? My feet itch to dance."

"Of course not, sire," he said with a teasing look towards Enna. "What song do you prefer?"

Lune scratched his chin. "Ah…humor me, my boy, and do have them play _O Can Ye Sew Cushions_. 'Twas a favorite of my youth."

Enna stood up as Aramir transmitted the information to a footman, and Lune offered his arm to her as they went down the stairs towards the cleared cobblestone floor. The musicians in the corner fell silent for a moment, then struck up a jaunty tune. Lune bowed to her (lower than she would have expected for a man of his girth), then took her hands and swept her into a wild and jolly dance. At first, Enna thought he was just dragging her back and forth in a quite uncivilized manner, but then she saw the intricate movements the old man was making with his feet and legs and realized that it was _she_ who was boorish and uncultured!

Gradually, the floor filled with people who danced in the same manner as Lune, and Enna began to lose some of her uncertainty. She had always been good at mimicking sounds, and if she concentrated hard enough, she could mimic movements, too, until she was keeping pace with Lune at a level of skill near his own.

At last, the song ended with a flourish. Enna blew a heavy breath, relieved for the respite, but Lune 'bah'ed loudly and declared that he could keep going. He hardly seemed winded at all! Nevertheless, hot and sweaty, Enna begged off another dance and escaped to the wings, leaning against the cool wall and trying not to catch her breath too noticeably.

It was not a moment later, though, that she was approached by one of the high table's strangers. At first, Enna was flattered, but then she remembered that she was one of only two unmarried noblewomen present at the feast and of _course_ the noblemen would not prefer to stoop too low beyond their own rank for a dancing partner. That said, then, she danced with Lord Coll, Lord Garren, Sir Pudip, Sir Tourn, Lord Hest, Councilor Linos, Councilor Urns, Councilor Eken, Councilor Anan, Councilor Grine, and even Edmund accidentally as she was hastily passed off in the midst of a complicated dance. At long last, no more requests for her company were made, and she fled to the high table to collapse beside Aramir, breathing as though her lungs were about to burst.

"I owe you greatly," said Aramir with a laugh when he saw her red face.

Enna took her goblet of eggnog and drank it down to the dregs of cinnamon. "Indeed you do, my friend—I think my feet are going to shatter into pieces."

"Well, if it's any consolation, you performed magnificently."

"Hopefully enough to dissuade them from asking again."

"Do you not like dancing?"

"Nay, not that—I am just tired."

Aramir tapped his cane on the stone floor. "Blast this leg—if it weren't for it, I would show those stuffy lords a thing or two. You haven't danced, lass, until you've danced with a sailor."

Enna put her chin in her hand and looked at him, trying to hide a smile. "I've seen you dance, Aramir."

"Ah, you lie. When?"

"Near every night, for a time," she answered. "After sunset on the _Seacharger_, when the waves were calm and Minodaurus was in a decent temper, you and your crewmates would light lanterns and have a merry old time with the hornpipe and Destro's mouthharp."

He tilted his head like a curious puppy, his eyes flickering over her face. "And you saw all this?"

"How could I not? To a tired, waterlogged sea rat, watching such cheer even from a distance was better than food. Whenever I heard that hornpipe, I untied myself and went to sit up in the ratlines along the reef sails. It is to my tribute I was never seen by one of you."

Aramir was silent for a moment, turning his head away and drawing his fingers across the gilded edge of his goblet. "…_I_ saw you."

She blinked. "What?"

"I saw you. On the _Seacharger_."

Enna began to feel slightly panicked, even though the dangers of being caught were long gone. "When? Was it the time that I slipped on my way up?"

Aramir continued to trace the embossing on his goblet, looking intently at his fingers. "I hadn't ever intended to tell you this."

"Tell me _what_?" The words burst from Enna's lips with more vexation than she had intended.

At last he looked up at her, though it was with a dark line between his brows. "That I saw you every night, Enna! Every night, you came up from the bowsprit and pinched a few sips of water and a bite of food. Every night, you passed within an arm's length from me. I could have reached out and touched you, if I had wanted. Whenever I had a moment, I thought about you—who were you? Were you all right? Were you cold? Where had you come from? Where were you going? Would you survive the night? Sometimes, I wondered if you really existed—but I made sure no one found out about you. I left you extra food from my rations, kept the galley door unlocked, and kept my brother and his first mate away from the bow as much as I could. The one time a whipping kept me from my post—the _one_ time—it all came crashing down, and you were discovered."

It had seemed as though he were going to say more, but he frowned again and fell silent. The air shivered between them both.

Enna had never heard the quiet lad string so many words together at the same time, and she was almost as awed by that as she was by what the words told her. But the true import of his words soon made itself clear—she owed him her life, numerous times over.

"Why did you never tell me this, Aramir?" she asked finally.

He returned to tracing designs on the tablecloth. "You didn't need to know," he said in a low growl. "You tend to overestimate things and treat them accordingly—there was no need to add that to your guilt collection."

Enna was about to ask why he had decided to tell her now, but then she remembered the _Splendor Hyaline_ moored in the docks just beyond the castle walls. _He's acknowledging the beginning of the end._

Suddenly, prickles of heat sprung up behind Enna's eyes. She hastily blinked them away, but as soon as she thought she had conquered them, the tears came rushing back, clouding her vision. _He mustn't see,_ was her foolish first thought as she sniffed.

"Every time something awful happens to you," he went on quietly, "I can't help but wish I had just dragged myself from my cot that night and not let Lan take the watch for me. You might have made it to Narnia and then escaped to Calormen, and never have undergone the terrible things you have."

"_Hush yourself_, Aramir Ealion," Enna burst out, spattering tears down her cheeks with the force of her exclamation. "I never want to hear a thing like that from your mouth again. So what if you succumbed once to your brother's violence? If you hadn't, I would never have been free of my uncle—always, I would be a stowaway from him, always afraid of being discovered again. I never would have known what Christmas was. I never would have seen my mother again, or learned the truth about my family and spent the few precious moments I did have with them. I would not be 'Dame Enna,' or 'once-Queen of Narnia Enna' or even 'dear friend Enna.' I wouldn't know the depth of Aslan's goodness, or that animals can talk, or that there _are_ kind rulers in the world."

She paused, swiping her hand across her nose as the tears came faster and faster. "Blast it, Aramir, you think you failed in protecting me. But if you hadn't, I never would have learned your name. You never would have learned mine. And we would have continued in our miserable lives completely unaware that the other existed."

His big, warm hand closed over her arm. "Please don't cry, Enna. Tears won't help a thing, now…"

Enna turned her face away from him, pretending to admire a stained glass window when really all she could concentrate on was keeping her sobs quiet. "I'm not crying."

She heard him shift in his seat, and then he was taking her hand and standing with her, one hand gripping his cane. "Come along, lass. I think some fresh air would do us both good."

As much as she tried to refuse his offer on account of her stubbornness, Enna let him pull her from the table and walk with her to a heavy wooden door set into the wall. He pulled it open, and together they stepped out onto Roscommon's snowy battlements.

It was dark and cold outside, and as Aramir shut the door behind them, it grew quiet, too. Though they were on the western side of the castle, the distant crashing of waves on the shore was still audible, even as thick snowflakes continued to fall, illuminated by the faint light of the waning moon.

"Winters are milder here in Archenland," Aramir remarked calmly as they ascended the short staircase to the landing, pushing his cane through the heavy accumulated snow that lay around their feet as they went.

Enna nodded wordlessly (knowing full well that he couldn't see her) and took a gasping breath, the cold air rushing against her damp cheeks.

Aramir was silent for a moment. At last, he said softly, "Why do you cry, dear lass?"

"I don't wish to leave," she forced out tearfully.

"Then _don't_!" he cried, his voice ringing out against the high stone walls of the castle. "I would have you stay with me, Enna."

"I can't," Enna pleaded miserably. "You know that as well as I. Peter and Lucy have asked me to, and now Susan is happy to hear that I am returning to Cair. I am obligated to, the Narnians have done so much for me…"

"Oh, damn the Narnians," Aramir growled. "Forcing you to do something you don't wish to, and taking you away from people who need you—!"

A wave of misery rose up inside Enna, threatening to choke out both reason and breath. "Please stop," she whispered. "I can't bear it!"

Aramir swore under his breath.

"I'm sorry," Enna said wretchedly. "I'll go."

But before she could make a move for the door, Aramir scooped her up and hugged her fiercely, his cane clattering to the cobblestones. "Please don't," he said into her shoulder. "I'll miss you like I'd miss my right hand."

Enna let the soft fabric of his tunic soak up the flood of tears that rushed forward at his words. It would not have been nearly as hard for her to accept the facts of her departure if Aramir had simply bidden her safe journeys and then turned his back, but he was actively resisting, and his opposition was only upsetting her further. "I'll think of you always," she whispered.

"Will you visit?"

Enna lifted her head slightly and braced her chin in the crook of his neck and shoulder, his hair soft against her cheek. "I don't know," she answered truthfully. Would she have the time? The resources? The emotional strength? It was doubtful.

"Will you write?" he murmured.

"Aye," she replied, squeezing her eyes shut. "Every night."

Aramir continued to hold her tightly, his long arms wrapped around her shoulders. "I am reminded of a song I heard once in Narrowhaven."

"What song was that?" Enna asked into his shoulder. He smelled of soap and cedar, and Enna breathed deeply of it, trying with all her might to burn it into her memory.

"I don't remember all the words," Aramir was saying, "but it went something like…_You say you will not stay with me, you turn your eyes away; you say you will not follow me, no matter what I say_."

Enna, stroking the downy hair that dusted the nape of his neck, wanted to scoff aloud and claim that he was making her out to sound monstrous; but the truth was, she _was_ monstrous. She said she would not stay with him, no matter what he said. So she kept silent, hiding her tears in his soft blue tunic. Aramir shifted his weight and adjusted his grip around her, drawing her even closer than she thought was possible, breathing softly against her neck as the snow gathered on her hair.

The smell of his shirt and the warmth of his arms around her began to make Enna rather sleepy after a time. It was already ticking late into the night, and the _Splendor Hyaline_ was due to shove off early next morning; she had yet to pack all her things, and there were certainly farewells to be said before embarking.

Stirring at last, Enna took a handful of Aramir's tunic in one fist, clasping him as tightly as she could one last time. "I love you so, Aramir."

It was not a tearful confession or last-minute decision; rather, those five words slipped from Enna's lips quite naturally, as though it were a perfectly reasonable thing to say under the circumstances. Even as she said them, Enna thought nothing of it until Aramir went perfectly motionless under her touch, the energy of his previous embrace suddenly gone. _Then_, only then, did she realize what she'd said.

Blessedly, they heard the knob of the door turn, and they stepped away from each other in time to be joined by Edmund and a near eruption of merry-making noise. His bright eyes flicking between them, he bowed and said, "I hope I am not intruding."

"Not at all, sire," said Enna, lifting her chin.

"I am glad to hear it. As it is, Enna, I come to bid you to your chambers—it is my desire to weigh anchor little later than sunrise, and I and my people go to prepare ourselves."

"Indeed," said Enna. "Very wise."

He bowed again, and Enna brushed past Aramir to patter down the staircase as quickly as she dared. (Suddenly, the privacy of her own quiet chamber seemed just the thing she needed.)

"A servant will come to wake you come morning," Edmund said as she came to the door.

Enna began to nod, but as she heard Aramir stir and say, "Wait one moment, Enna—", she quickly put a smile on her face and said loudly to Edmund, "I will await their summons. Pardon me…"

His young face skewed with perplexity, Edmund stepped away from the door, saying, "Er…Aramir is calling for you…."

Enna ignored them both and fled from the snowy outdoors into the warm great hall. She heard Aramir call her name once more, and she got a few strange looks from revelers, but at last she was pushing the wide doors open and hurrying out into the darkened corridors. They were quiet deserted, and so Enna came to her room unhindered.

Once inside, she closed the door and bolted it securely. The fire was dying down, so she stirred it up and then threw open the lid of her trunk. Into it she tossed haphazardly (working quickly so as to keep her mind occupied) all but one of her gowns, her gifts from Father Christmas, and her satchel. Her boots and her cloak she set aside to wear the next morning, and Endrit's sword she considered for a moment, and then rested it against the wall—a servant would find it eventually and return it to their master.

It was not until she was undressing that Enna's manic energy flagged. She was seated on her bed pulling off her shoes when the lace of the left one became hopelessly knotted, and so she tugged on the offending shoe once, twice, and then three times, trying to remove it. On the third attempt, the shoe came flying off, but it was accompanied by a sharp pain at her throat and a distant tinkling sound—her fingers, loosed so suddenly from the shoe, had flown upwards, caught her dangling necklace, and torn it from her throat, breaking it irreparably.

For a long time, Enna sat and stared at the destroyed bit of jewelry, what was left of the sea glass pendant glimmering in the firelight. It was a simple, fragile piece of no great beauty, that was for sure, but it had swung from her throat since before the burning of the harbors at Cair Paravel, and it was a gift from someone who had at that time been little more to her than an ordinary sailor.

It was then, all alone and holding a broken trinket, that she began to cry.

--

_A/N2: Goodness me. We have some emo characters today._


	46. Chapter Forty Six

_A/N: Dangit, this was supposed to be a short chapter….Also, there was an important announcement I should have made several chapters ago: actually, why don't I wait until the end of the chapter to announce it?_

--

Enna's first coherent thought upon waking the next morning was how dreadful she looked. She must have fallen asleep crying, for she was still completely dressed, though her hair was coming down in snarls from the pinned knot at the back of her head, and her gowns were all wrinkled; her face was pale as death, and the dark circles under her swollen eyes only accentuated her mournful appearance.

Below her mirror and spread out on the bureau were several paper-wrapped packages. She knew they were thoughtful Christmas gifts from people (servants had distributed them late the night before), but it was with little enthusiasm that she opened the gifts: a pair of embroidered slippers from Lucy, a worn but beautifully illustrated map of Narnia from Peter and Edmund, a pretty lace handkerchief from Tamlyn and her new husband John Small (they must have had it sent from the city where they were staying), a simple but finely constructed wooden hunting horn from Robin, and even from Lune a beautiful leather book filled with Archenlandian history. These she put into her chest; the last package she opened last, however: it was a tiny square of paper with two stitches of thread. Sewn into place on the paper was her mother's ring, polished and newly hammered to fit her larger finger. It had been lovely before, but now it was almost heartbreakingly beautiful in all its blues and golds.

Fighting tears, Enna almost threw out the window for anger at its giver—she told him she _didn't want it_—but instead she wrapped it back up and placed it back on the bureau.

Slowly, she exchanged her beautiful green and red dresses for the plainest, most faded frock she owned (it was now the color of dried mud), and scraped her hair back into a tight plait. She looked almost exactly as she did in Cair—whipped and wretched—but, she had to remind herself, the idea was not to look pleasing to the eye but to simply dress in a manner that would not hinder a single movement.

That done, Enna put on her boots, slipped the packaged ring into her pocket, donned her cloak, and began to lug her trunk from the room. It was certainly heavy, but if she held it at the right angle, she could drag it behind her. And so drag it she did, all the way down from Roscommon castle to the quay, where the _Splendor Hyaline_ and surrounding dock were already swarming with creatures and humans, all busy mending torn sails or bringing things onboard despite the early hour.

"Ah, good morrow, Enna!" came a cry.

Enna looked up. The shouter was Peter, who was hanging bareheaded off the side of the ship and hoisting containers up the side with a rope. "And good morrow to you, too," she called back.

"Go ahead and bring your things onboard," he panted, growing red-faced with the effort needed to draw up a particularly heavy box. "You'll be sharing a bunkroom with my sister, quite separate from the others."

"When will we be shoving off?" she asked.

Peter turned and shouted the question up into the rigging; a moment later, Edmund came climbing down a ratline, dressed in naught but a pair of boots, dirty trousers, and a white tunic. "Within an hour is my hope," he answered his brother.

"An hour or so," Peter told Enna as Edmund climbed nimbly back up into wild world of canvas and rope.

Enna nodded. "Very well."

Peter went back to his task, and Enna lugged her trunk aboard. As soon as she set foot on the deck of the _Splendor_, several unpleasant memories came rushing forward, but the combination of the cool and salty air and the gentle rocking of the ship under her soon served to settle her mind and calm her spirits. She had always felt at home on the sea, even though the people of her blood were not particularly drawn to the water.

"Enna! Over here!"

This time, the shouter was Lucy, standing in a doorway on the other side of the ship. Enna waved and dragged her trunk across the crowded deck, making it to Lucy only after being tripped over and crossly chastised no fewer than three times. "This will be our room for the voyage," Lucy said as she picked up the other end of the trunk and ducked down into the low-ceilinged quarters. "Look! We have hammocks! Delightful, don't you think?"

"Much better than my last bed aboard a ship, certainly," Enna said laughingly.

Lucy helped her shove the trunk under her hammock, beaming. "There. Oh, and I nearly forgot—your gift to me was _so_ thoughtful!"

"As was yours," Enna answered. The ceiling was so low that she, being significantly taller than Lucy, had to stoop in order to stand. "They do look incredibly comfortable."

"I hope they shall be. And I fully intend to write in your gift every night—the paper is wonderfully suited to ink."

"I remember you saying once you wished to start your own history, so you could write it as you remembered it."

Lucy laughed and slung her arm through Enna's, and together the two of them went back onto the deck to watch the hustle and bustle. "I am so glad you've agreed to come back to Narnia with us. I must say, we all thought you'd choose to stay here."

"Why would I do that?" Enna asked levelly, staring steadily up at the mainstay.

"Well, for one thing, your darling nephew. I've only met him a few times, but I could scarcely bear to give him back to the nurse after playing with him. I don't know how you're managing to leave him."

"It will be difficult," Enna conceded with caution. "But…Aramir has adopted him, and he will be a good father. I have no qualms about him raising Erec."

Lucy tapped knowingly on Enna's arm, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "But my brother told me something last night that makes me think your leaving is more difficult than you're making it out to sound."

"Oh, whatever do you mean, silly goose?"

"I mean _Aramir_!" Lucy gigglingly replied in a stage whisper. "Edmund said he happened upon the two of you last night quite _cozy_."

Heat flared up on Enna's cheeks. "That was hardly the case! We were simply embracing before I went to my chambers. I shan't likely see him again, you know."

Lucy tossed her hair rather dismissively. "Well, though the case may be, _I_ still think you love him. It would certainly explain a great deal…why you couldn't love Peter, why you were weeping last night—don't give me that look, Enna, our chambers are very close and I could hear you—and why we could scarce drag you away from his side this whole time."

"You're making things up," Enna muttered.

"Perhaps, but it would make for a fantastic story, don't you think?"

"Hmm."

"Don't 'hmm' me. It would."

Enna gave the younger girl a conciliatory nod and stirred. "I was planning on saying goodbye to Erec one last time before we embark."

"You ought to go and do that. The next time you see him, he might be eight and a page to my brother!"

The thought was unbearable to Enna. Quickly, she detached herself from Lucy and made her way across the rolling deck, stumbling a bit from the unfamiliar pitching of the sea. She was nearly to the gangplank when she went staggering into someone, nearly knocking them over. "Pardon me," she said, eyes down.

The person caught her wrist. Enna was so startled by the contact that her eyes flew up into the person's face, and she was greeted by an unsettlingly familiar freckled one. It was Aramir, of course, holding a small chest under one arm and still gripping her hand with the other.

All he got out was "Enna—" before she had pulled herself free and was hurrying across the gangplank. Thankfully, a particularly cumbersome crowd of Narnians carrying ropes and barrels of tar and sheets of canvas approached the ship at the same time she was disembarking, and she soon lost herself in it. Once, she glanced back as she was hurrying up the wharf staircase towards the castle, and the crowd was going across the gangplank.

Satisfied she had shaken Aramir off, Enna turned back around and headed towards the tall eastern tower. By the time she had climbed all the way up to Erec's nursery at the very top, the sun had risen a bit more, and the bright stones were bathed in gentle early-morning sunlight.

This far removed from the commotion of the docks, Enna felt the tension in her chest loosen a bit. Quietly, she took a soft woolen blanket from the basket near the wide window and bent over Erec's cradle, scooping the sleeping baby gently up into her arms and wrapping him securely against the chill morning air. The motion woke him, and he screwed up his little face to begin wailing, but Enna brushed a soft kiss against his downy head and began to hum a familiar tune. Almost immediately, the baby gave several little sighs and stopped fussing.

The sight was so beautiful, Enna couldn't bear to leave it, and so she settled down into the rocking chair near the western window, Erec heavy in her arms. The baby played with the ends of her plait as she rocked, and she alternately tickled him with it and placed gentle kisses on his soft cheeks. "I wish you would have a mama," she whispered to him.

He stared up at her with sleepy blue eyes, sucking on one tiny thumb and holding onto her hair with the other hand.

"Sleep, babe," she murmured, stroking the tip of his soft nose.

Still Erec gazed at her.

"Would you have me sing you a song?" she asked him with a laugh. "I might make you cry again."

Erec made no move to close his eyes, so Enna sighed. "I can only remember one song. And scarcely can I recall the words. You don't mind if I skip some lines, do you? Of course not.

_"I reached my finger into some soft bush, _

_"Thinking the fairest flower to find—_

_"I pricked my finger to the bone _

_"And left the fairest flower behind._

_"A ship there is and she sails the sea,_

_"She's loaded deep as deep can be,_

_"But not so deep as the love I'm in—_

_"I know not if I sink or swim._

_"Must I go bound while you go free?_

_"Must I love a man who doesn't love me? _

_"Must I be born with so little art _

_"As to love a man who'll break my heart?"_

It did not take long for Erec to slip back into sleep, his thumb limp in his red mouth. As soon as she realized that he had done so, Enna realized that she had _not_ wanted him to sleep, for she knew now that she must return to her own ship. The tears coming freely, she stood up slowly, then walked to the cradle and placed the sleeping baby into it. Erec gave one deep sigh and was still again. Enna stood over him and watched for as long as she dared. At long last, she wiped the last of the tears from her cheeks and turned around to start down the staircase.

To her great shock, a hulking, dark figure was standing in the doorway, nearly taking up the entire width of the space. Of course, it was just Aramir, who was far from dark and hulking, but Enna was nonetheless startled speechless, and it took her a moment to regain her breath. "How long were you standing there?" she asked finally. It seemed like such a silly thing to say afterwards, but there was no taking it back.

"Nearly since you came up here yourself," Aramir answered quietly. He was dressed as Peter and Edmund were, in plain and simple clothes and dirty boots.

Enna nervously smoothed her skirts and put her chin up defensively. "Very well."

They stood in silence for a moment.

"There is no use in trying to deny it, milord," Enna burst out. "There are things we have to talk about, like or not. I will take whatever it is you choose to tell me, but I beg you, let us move to another place. I don't wish to wake the—"

"I love you, Enna."

This simple statement in no way followed logically what she had just said, so it took Enna a matter of moments to react. "What?" she asked quite stupidly.

"Last night," Aramir said, limping farther into the room, "you said you loved me. And _I_ love _you_."

She couldn't help it—this was far too good to be true. "'Love'?" she said tentatively. "As in…_marriage_ love?"

He looked self-conscious under his freckles, and he was the tow-headed youth once more as he bashfully said, "Aye."

Enna still couldn't believe it. Knotting her fingers in front of her, she asked quietly, "How come this is the first I've heard of it, then?"

"First you've heard of it?" Aramir repeated her with a touch of indignation in his voice. "If that is your logic, milady, then I might ask why last night was the first I've heard of _yours_!"

"Maybe you didn't hear it," Enna said stubbornly.

"I _did_."

"How do you know?"

"Because you said it!" Aramir burst out. His voice rang against the stone walls, and Erec shifted in his cradle.

Chastened, he lowered his voice. "Look, Enna—you must understand. I've loved you almost as long as I've known you. But how could telling you that then have been pertinent? You were stubborn as a mule, and trying to know you was like…well, it was like taming the ocean's tides. Impossible!"

"'Impossible'?" it was Enna's turn to sputter angrily. "'Impossible'? You know me now, don't you?"

"Well, aye, because you let me. _After_ some time."

"Why didn't you tell me then?"

"Because you'd gone and gotten yourself tied up with Peter, Enna!" he cried in exasperation. "If it had been impertinent to tell you before, it became inconceivable. What could I think to accomplish by telling you? An end to a dear friendship, at the worst, and adultery and treason, at best."

"But—"

Aramir braced himself against a chest of drawers, easing his weight off his sore leg. "When Aslan came to us before our army split, he took me aside and made me swear not to breathe a word of my affections to anyone. He said it could only serve to splinter our group."

Enna turned abruptly and went to the eastern window. The _Splendor_ was still in the docks, and it truly was splendorous in the soft sunlight. "Why do you tell me this _now_, then?" she asked, thinking of her things under the hammock.

"He came to me last night," Aramir replied softly.

"What did he say?"

He sighed, as though relating the words was painful. "He said…I could present myself to you, but to prepare myself to face the consequences."

"What consequences?"

"I do not know."

Enna traced patterns in the frost on the windowpane. How desperately she wanted to believe him! Never once had he given her cause to think him untrustworthy, but still, what he was telling her was almost too fanciful to be true. To think that he had loved her since the beginning! Through her doubts and complaining and general shrewishness, he had loved her.

"Then tell me," she said at last, her eyes going blurry for the umpteenth time that day. "Why were you on the _Splendor_?"

"I was bringing things aboard."

"You said you loved me," Enna retorted with a humorless laugh, spinning around to face him. "And yet you are helping send me away?"

"Enna…"

"What kind of rogue are you, that you would say one thing and do another behind your back?"

"Enna—!"

"Do not think me such a fool, Aramir Ealion," Enna said with a stomp of her foot. "You would tell lies to serve your own purp—"

_"Enna!_"

He took a step forward as he cried out. Enna immediately fell silent—compared to other people, Aramir hadn't spoken that loudly, but never before had he raised his voice to such an extent in front of her.

"I'm sorry," he said in a quieter voice once she'd shut her mouth. "But please, you must let me defend myself."

Enna knew very well that she had more than deserved it.

He took another step closer, closing the gap between them to a mere few paces. "I was onboard the _Splendor_ because I was bringing things aboard. _Mine and Erec's_ things. I told you that I would miss you more than I would my right hand—and if you won't stay and marry me, then blast it, I'm going back to Narnia with you."

"What will the council have to say about this?" Enna asked at last, softly.

"Er…I haven't asked them yet. But if they oppose the idea, there's naught they can do about it—I am their master."

Enna was speechless—on such poor sleep, this sudden upheaval was encountering massive resistance in her brain. So long she had built herself up for leaving, she was now having difficulty dissuading herself from it.

"Enna," Aramir said quietly. "Do you love me?"

It was hardly a difficult question, but Enna had to sink into the rocking chair and hide her burning face in her hands before she could answer, so quietly she barely heard herself, "Aye, Aramir. With all my heart."

There was a gentle touch at her knee, and she looked up to see Aramir kneeling at her feet, his dear freckled face earnest and pink with fervency. "I love you, lass—you _are_ my right hand."

"You shouldn't do that, Aramir," she told him stupidly. "You'll hurt your leg again."

He ignored this. "I'll ask you again," he said firmly, "and I'll keep asking until you give me an 'aye'—marry me."

"Aye." The word slipped out from between Enna's lips quite unintentionally, but, as it was with the circumstances the night before, it just seemed to fit. Now bashful herself, Enna added, "I'm afraid I've proven myself to be quite the nightmare."

She was looking at her knees so she did not see Aramir's reaction to her agreement, but when his big hand closed around her two trembling ones, she had to look up into his face. To her relief, his grin was ear-to-ear, and she swore even his freckles were brighter. More to hide her own mounting excitement than anything else, she sat up a bit straighter and said, "Wait. I have something."

And she pulled from her pocket the paper-wrapped ring. The idea had sounded pleasant in her head, but as she unwrapped the gold band, she began to worry that Aramir would think her silly or emotional. "I was wondering," she said hesitantly, "if you might…"

The corners of Aramir's bright grey eyes went crinkly, and he took the ring from the package, breaking the two threads that held it in place. "We'll have to get you a proper one soon," he said with some slight embarrassment, slipping it onto her finger.

"I like this one just fine, Aramir," Enna told him shyly. "But you've put it on the wrong hand."

Turning rather red, Aramir quickly switched the ring to the proper hand. "Apologies."

Enna hid a smile as she stood. "I _do_ love you."

"Ruddy good job of showing it," he grumbled good-naturedly. "Now—_oh, blast_—Enna, lass, darling, would you help me up?"

She had to laugh aloud at this, and she reached down and helped drag Aramir to his feet. As soon as he was steady, she picked up his cane too and handed it to him. "I think," she said quietly, "that now _I_ am reminded of a song."

"What song is that, lass?" Aramir asked. "Not _Death of a Maiden_, I should hope?"

"Hardly," Enna retorted with a toss of her head. "I don't remember the title—"

"The tune?"

"I won't."

"But you did for Erec."

"Erec can't laugh."

"You forget I was there to listen. Go on and sing it for me, Enna—the worst I can do is not ask you to sing again."

"Very well," Enna said. "But only a few lines."

"Of course.

_"And when he saw her loyalty_

_"and Merri so true-hearted,_

_"he said: 'Me darling, married we'll be_

_"'and nothing but death will part us._

_"'And when we're in a foreign land_

_"'I'll guard you, darling, with my right hand,_

_"'and hope that family and friends defend_

_"their Merri and her gallant soldier.'"_

_"Merri and Her Soldier,"_ Aramir said with a grin. "I know that song well."

"Don't go thinking I'm comparing you favorably with a gallant soldier," Enna told him sassily. "That wasn't my meaning."

"Well, perhaps, but I stand by my word—Aslan help me, I shall have you sing again."

Enna blushed and put her hands before her face.

"Oh, don't hide, lass." He gently took them down and kept his fingers tangled in hers. "We have much to do."

"Aye," she answered, clasping his wonderfully big hand with both of hers. "I remember the council saying they must approve your choice of a bride before you wed her."

She had thought her words were simple, but he brightened at them. "Then you shall stay here?"

"Of course!" she exclaimed. "To think I would wed you and then still force you to come to Narnia…to that I say _bah!_ I would much rather you raise my nephew in his ancestral home than in Cair."

Aramir squeezed her hand. "You know, lass, when we wed, he shall be your son."

The thought hadn't even crossed her mind. When she did realize it, she thought she might start weeping again—it was all too good to be true.

"Don't cry, lass…"

"I shall do what I wish, Aramir," she rejoined. "But I shan't cry. Not because you told me not to, but because I needn't anymore."

He grinned at her, kissing the back of her hand. "Attalass."

Enna had to force herself to continue looking saucy, because she had been struck most violently with the urge to put her face where her hand had been so he could kiss her lips. (But perhaps it wasn't done that way—after all, her relationship with Peter had been far from normal.) To hide her change of mood, she tossed her plait and said, "And when am I to expect to become your wife?"

"Just as soon as you can bear it," he answered sincerely. "I have been in love with you so long, I could marry you this instant. But you—I wouldn't wish to impose myself."

Enna looked at him through her lashes, fighting a fierce blush. "I may not have felt so ardently as long as you have, but it has been no short a time, either. I think we ought to go to the council right away."

"Are you quite sure?" he asked.

"Aye," Enna answered definitely. "I love you, Aramir."

He opened his mouth to respond, but then seemed to either forget what he was about to say or decide not to say it at all. At any rate, the next thing Enna knew was that his arms were about her waist and he was drawing her into a fervent kiss. The first instant, she went cold with fear—what if she had forgotten how? or she accidentally stepped on his foot?—but the next instant she was warm all the way down to her toes and her arms had miraculously wrapped themselves around his neck.

Much, much too soon there came a giggle. The sound seemed loud in the quiet room, and it was with great shock and not a little consternation that they quickly parted, only to find Lucy standing in the doorway with one hand over her mouth and the other over Peter's. "I won't say I told you so," Lucy said laughingly from behind her fingers.

"How—" Before Enna could finish, there was a sharp pain at the back of her head, and she flung a hand back only to find Aramir struggling to free his fingers from her hopelessly tangled hair. While she, red-faced, helped him, Lucy's giggles grew louder until Peter reached around and clapped his own hand over her mouth.

"I came up here because Lucy said you were having trouble leaving, Enna," Peter said once they'd parted completely. "Now I can't help but wonder if you will have that problem any longer."

Lucy burst into another fit of giggles.

"Lu, _shh_!"

She muffled herself in her sleeve.

Never had Enna been so mortified, but she decided she'd probably done worse, and so she cleared her throat and said, "Actually, Peter, I think my plans have changed."

"I am actually not very surprised—really, Lu! Do you need to leave?—but I must know. Is there a wedding in the future?"

"Indeed there is," Enna answered, sneaking a glance at Aramir. (He looked a bit abashed, but there was plenty of boyish pride in his face, too.)

"Excellent!" said Peter. "I had hoped things would turn out this way. When do you plan to do it?"

"As soon as possible, sire," said Aramir. "The council must approve of her—"

"Which they no doubt will," chimed in Lucy, "as you are the only living daughter of Roscommon!"

"—And when they do, it will likely be two or three days before all the paperwork is signed and sealed."

"I hate to inconvenience you," Enna said truthfully. "Everyone is expecting me in Narnia, and now I decide not to go."

"If it had been for any reason less worthy than this," said Lucy, "I'd be quite cross with you. But it isn't, and so I'm not. And of course we must stay for the wedding. Right, Peter?"

Peter grimaced. "Edmund will not like the idea. He does miss Cair Paravel, and of course we all long to see Susan."

"Oh! Pooh on Ed," Lucy said. "If he's the only one in our way, I say give him a paddleboat and let him leave when he will."

"Lucy!"

"I insist on staying, Peter," Lucy answered, putting her foot down forcibly.

Peter sighed and said, "I can't leave without you, Lucy. If it's all right with our guests, I suppose we must stay for the wedding."

Enna had hoped they would decide to—rushing forward, she embraced Lucy and received a peck on the cheek from Peter, and Aramir clasped hands with Peter and kissed Lucy's hand.

"I suppose I ought to go put a stop to the preparations," said Peter, clapping his hands.

"Aye!" said Lucy. "And I will get Enna's things from the ship and then get some dwarfs and centaurs and dryads together—Enna, they make the finest weddings."

With that, Peter and Lucy excused themselves and clattered down the stairs. When all was quiet again, Enna tucked her hand into Aramir's and said, "What say you to finding those councilors?"

"Aye, lass—I shall drag them all out of bed by their ears if need be."

"Or their hair. You seem to be quite adept at that."

"I ought to put you in the dungeon for such sass," he growled, catching her around the waist and pulling her close again.

"Does Roscommon really have dungeons?"

"Aye—they're quite damp."

"Eugh. Let's try not to put many people down there, hmm?"

"Agreed. We both know too well how unpleasant dungeons are."

Enna nodded, Aramir kissed her, and then she stood in his arms, clinging to him with every ounce of strength her body could manage. He smelled of soap and cedarwood, his breath was slow and soothing against her shoulder, her sweet Darling was safe in his cradle, and the Lion approved of everything.

All was finally well.

**The End.**

--

_A/N2: That's right, that's the announcement—Taming the Tides is almost over! So if you haven't voted in either of our polls concerning the next fic, now is your LAST CHANCE. :D_

_Epilogue to come very shortly!_


	47. Epilogue

Needless to say, the council could not deny a full-blooded Roscommon the permission to marry the new lord, and thus the twenty-eighth of December turned out to be a perfect day for a wedding. The day dawned bright, and the sun sparkled on the surface of the freshly fallen snow and the calm blue ocean until the late hours of the afternoon. Only once did Edmund mention it was a perfect day for sailing, and then Lucy made him apologize.

It was late morning when Aramir and Enna were wed in the great hall, which was packed so full of curious Narnians, Archenlanders, and peasants from the village that there was no room to sit. It was only later that Enna realized it was not the marriage itself that drew so many guests; rather, it was the free food, the chance to gawk at their new master and mistress up close, the opportunity to rub elbows with the kings of Narnia and Archenland and their entourages, the to-do that the Narnians always caused among sons and daughters of men, and, of course, the fact that the entire ceremony was presided over by a gigantic talking lion.

After the traditional rituals were completed and the final papers were signed by both parties, wine flowed freely and food and music abounded. Enna, now Lady of Roscommon, was kept on her feet most of the time by fat gentlemen who wished a turn about the floor with the beaming bride; even Aramir, though still sore from his wound, insisted upon energetically dancing not once, but thrice with her, much to the satisfaction of the audience.

After the third time around, however, the both of them decided enough was enough for the moment and retired to the table, where Aslan sat nearly motionlessly, his kind golden eyes surveying the entire scene with an expression of great satisfaction. "Will you have some wine, Aslan?" Enna asked him.

He turned those warm eyes upon her and chuckled. "I thank you, dear one, but no."

The lion was close enough for Enna to touch, and so she fearlessly reached out and stroked his soft mane. "We are not used to seeing you in your true form," she said. "I am so accustomed to your tabby shape."

"I take many forms," Aslan replied. "Even while you traveled, I was with you in more ways than the white-footed feline."

The thought warmed Enna's heart, and Aramir squeezed her hand as if to say 'I told you so.' "Will we still see you," she continued, "even though we are no longer Narnians? All this time, I have thought you a Narnian…"

Aslan laughed deeply at this, shaking his great mane. "Daughter of Eve. Do you not know me better than that? I do not distinguish between Narnian and Archenlander, Calormene and Telmarine, when I choose who will do my work. All creatures are the same to me—so nay, I will not abandon you now, nor ever."

"And if we raised our son in this manner…"

"Then I shall be with him, also." Aslan chuckled again. "Oh, daughter. How changed you are from a year ago, when you could scarcely wait to be rid of me!"

"I would never be rid of you now," Enna protested. "I love you, Aslan."

The lion's damp tongue touched her hand briefly. "I know, daughter."

"And yet you must leave again," said Aramir mournfully.

"Such is the way of things, son of Adam."

"I wish it needn't be," Enna said.

Aslan tossed his mane. "Someday, you shall both understand. But until then, draw your sword, son of Adam."

Aramir had to stand up, but he drew Arondight, gleaming, from its sheath.

"Read to me the words inscribed thereupon."

Aramir frowned and Enna lifted a hand to help him, but he began to sound out the words before she could do anything. "It says…'_Vir ut insisto Leo mos have totus semita no rectus pro is_'."

"You do not know what it means."

"No," Aramir admitted, shaking his head. "No one does."

"It is a most ancient and foreign tongue," said Aslan. "I alone in this world can read it for what it says."

"Will you tell us?"

"It reads, _'The man that follows the Lion will have all paths made straight before him_'. Blessed are you, son of Adam, to have that truth upon your right hand. Mind that you don't forget it."

Aramir nodded and bowed deeply. "Aye, Aslan."

"Now, daughter of Eve," Aslan continued, "do you know what is inscribed upon your own weapons, the ones that rest in a trunk by your bed?"

"I remember them," Enna said, "but I cannot recall what they read."

"Then I shall remind you. On your red bow is written, '_Victoria Usquequaque ut Rectus, cui Leo pluo suus bona'. _In the same ancient language, it means _'Victory always to the upright, on whom the Lion reins his blessings'_. Teach that to your son."

"Of course," Enna said. "It is true. But what of my quiver?"

"It reads, _'__Leo est supremus totus alius, is quos ego servo plene'—'The Lion is above all else, it is he whom I serve wholeheartedly'_."

The phrases did not mean as much to Enna as Arondight's had to Aramir, but the thought that she had borne that witness with her throughout Narnia, Archenland, and Calormen brought a warm feeling of pride to her stomach. "Aye, Aslan."

The lion looked at her with penetrating eyes. "Remember to teach young Erec what I have taught you," he said. "For if his blood and spiritual parentage are any indication, he will have much difficulty without it."

Enna blushed, Aramir laughed, and Aslan chuckled. "Indeed, Aslan," said Aramir. "It shall be our first priority."

"As it should be," said Aslan approvingly. "But, ah—I sense the beginnings of an excellent breeze. Perhaps it is time that our Narnian friends bid you farewell."

"Will we see them again?" Enna asked, aghast at the suddenness of the announcement. "We may not be Narnian any longer, but they are our dear friends."

"I do not tell others' stories, daughter," Aslan answered with some amusement. "The span of their days is not for anyone to know but me."

"Aye," Enna whispered, chastened.

It was at this time that there came a shift in the mood of the celebrations; the Narnians were beginning to filter out of the hall towards the sea, where the _Splendor Hyaline_ waited, ready for the journey back to Cair Paravel. As if sensing this, Peter, Lucy and Edmund approached the dais.

"I'm glad you decided to stay this long, friends," Enna said sadly. "We shall miss you all."

"Oh, Enna," Lucy burst out with emotion, turning rather bright-eyed. "I am terrible at farewells. Just give her the thing, Peter, so we can be off."

Nodding understandingly, Peter drew from behind his back a piece of parchment tied neatly with a red ribbon and handed it to Enna. "We regret that we hadn't enough time to procure a proper wedding gift," he said sheepishly as Enna unrolled the offering. "But Lucy thought this might please you just as much."

The paper was covered in neat black penmanship. It read:

_"Testament Of Unconditional Surrender._

_"On this the twenty-fourth day of December, the undersigned of the isles of Galma and Terebinthia do hereby withdraw their armies and agree to pay the recompense the recipient of this surrender, the Crown of the Kingdom of Narnia, demands. _

_"Which is outlined below:_

_"Full and complete disarmament, save for enough men to maintain a working defensive unit for both parties._

_"A yearly tribute to the Crown of Narnia worth five percent of both party's gross income._

_"The reduction of the ruling authority of both parties to complete subjection under the High Crown of Narnia._

_"We hereby do all this understand:_

_"Peter, High King of Narnia_

_"Helmin, King of Galma_

_"Tortrigr, King of Terebinthia"_

Enna was moved almost to tears. "Lucy was right," she said, shaking her head. "This is much better than anything else you could have given me."

"I thought so," Lucy said.

Peter beamed. "Then we end this portion of our friendships on a very decent note. I had hoped as much."

Enna and Aramir got up and came around the table to say a final farewell to the three Narnians. Aramir and the kings clasped arms, and Enna embraced each one of them. "We certainly hope to see Erec in our court in a few years," Peter said fondly.

"As do we," Aramir replied.

"Come," said Lucy impatiently. "Walk with us to the _Splendor._ Might they, Aslan?"

The lion inclined his head. "Of course."

And so the five went down together across the bright and snow-covered path; the _Splendor Hyaline_ loomed high above the docks, casting a long blue shadow across the sunny water. "Ready to cast off, Your Highnesses!" called a crewmember from the deck.

"Well," said Edmund. "It is here that we must part ways. What a year it has been, eh?"

"What a year," they all agreed.

Peter smiled up at the ship before turning back. "Aramir, friend, I wish you luck. I have no doubts that you will find life with your new bride easier than I did."

"I would hope so," Aramir answered dryly.

Enna and Lucy laughed.

"And Enna, you will make a first-rate Lady of Roscommon, especially with Aramir at your side. Aslan be with you while you rule!"

"It is not the ruling I fear," Enna said honestly. "It is raising a child!"

"It will be difficult, indeed," Aramir said.

"Nevertheless, we shall try."

"Aye—with everything."

As the sound of unfurling canvas filled the air above their heads, Peter smiled and kissed Enna's hand. "I have faith in both of you."

"Goodbye, then."

"Goodbye."

He released her hand, and she smiled once last time, and then the three rulers of Narnia went aboard. Enna and Aramir stood shoulder-to-shoulder as the ship weighed anchor; it shuddered, rolled, and then began to lean out to sea, the waves splitting away before its gleaming prow, and they watched Lucy and Peter wave from the deck until they were too small to see anymore. Once it had become no more than a dark spot on the wide expanse of water, Enna slipped her hand into Aramir's, and together they turned and went back towards home.

--

_A/N: Would you look at that! 47 chapters long, exactly as long as "Sea Rat."_

_Well, it's been a long time, guys, but we finally made it. I won't get as emotional as I did at the end of "A Time for Us" and "Sea Rat," but I thank you with just as much sincerity now as I did then. :) And it's not really the end of "Enna and co.," as one reader put it—Narnia Fan Fiction Revolution approached me the other day and asked for permission to produce "Sea Rat" and "Taming the Tides" (as well as "Persuaded" and "A Time for Us") in audiobook form. Be looking for that this winter!_

_On that bombshell, then, happy 2010 and thanks for reading all 94 chapters of this series. :)_

_~Sushi_

_PS: Be on the lookout for the next Schmo and Sushi Narnia fanfiction, "The Fledgling Year," coming soon!_


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